Prozac & Other Miracles

What do you do when your bipolar next-door neighbor thinks he has the healing power of Jesus? Accidentally introduce him to your sexy, newly separated, and ambitious cousin, of course, and wait for the excrement to hit the proverbial.
But it’s ‘all good.’

Betina: F, 40s. A Brooklynite transplanted to Manhattan. A New Yorker through and through.
March: M, 40s. An articulate, highly intelligent and literate manic depressive.
Ellen: F, 40s. Betina’s cousin, from Sheepshead Bay. Sexy in a tired way. Street smart. Innately understands publicity.

New York City, 2003.

90 Minutes

Selected for LoNyLa’s Velocity Lab, 2012
Fellowship wait list, Edward F. Albee Foundation.
Friday Night Footlights, Dramatists Guild.

ELLEN:    Someone’s gonna break their neck.
BETINA:  I walk on it every day.
ELLEN:    Then it’ll be you. Hey, March.
                  (Sees food. Disappointed) Oh. Chicken.
BETINA:  Would you like a piece?
MARCH:  That’s what I’ve been saying.
BETINA:  March.
ELLEN:    This it?
BETINA:  There’s potato salad?
ELLEN:    I thought it was going to be a party.
BETINA:  People cancelled.
ELLEN:    People fucking suck.