LAST BRUNCH, DEATH OF A SALESMAN or A TRIBUTE TO ARTHUR MILLER – project “52”
No, nothing happened.
I said nothing happened.
Didn’t you hear me?
I’m tired to the death.
I suddenly couldn’t drive any more.
The car kept going off onto the shoulder, y’know?
Jesus, maybe he smashed up the car again!
But the funeral...
Ben, that funeral will be massive!
They’ll come from Maine, Massachusetts, Vermont, New Hampshire!
All the old-timers with the strange license plates — that boy will be thunderstruck, Ben, because he never realized — I am known!
Rhode Island, New York, New Jersey — I am known, Ben, and he’ll see it with his eyes once and for all.
He’ll see what I am, Ben!
He’s in for a shock, that boy!
... ... ...
Forgive me, dear. I can’t cry.I don’t know what it is, I can’t cry. I don’t understand it. Why did you ever do that? Help me Willy, I can’t cry. It seems to me that you’re just on another trip. I keep expecting you. Willy, dear, I can’t cry. Why did you do it? I search and search and I search, and I can’t understand it, Willy. I made the last payment on the house today. Today, dear. And there’ll be nobody home.We’re free and clear.We’re free.We’re free...We’re free...
Death of Salesman
by Arthur Miller
Thank you for visiting,
Sophia
© 2015 copyright | an ode to… | sophia terra~ziva | ALL RIGHTS RESERVED