Christina, a washed-up looking 30 year old is sitting at a seedy bar drinking a Manhattan Cocktail and applying rouge. Matthew, a 50 year old salesman wearing a suit with a loose tie is sitting next to her sipping scotch on the rocks. A bartender swipes down the counter.
Christina: You know I was a dancer in a past life? Swirling and twirling in a platter tutu down 5th avenue and through Time’s Square and right onto the stage at the New York Ballet. Yep, me and Misty Copeland. I was in her wedding, you know.
Matthew: That’s bull shit.
Chrisitina: No, it’s true, I promise. Look! I’ll show you her contact information in my phone.
Christina shows Matthew her phone, the contact says Missy Coalfield.
Matthew motions the bartender over and whispers in his ear.
Matthew, to the bartender: She needs to be cut off, she’s clearly drunk.
The bartender nods, eyes Christina’s glass, and goes back to swiping down the bar.
Christina: I heard that. I’m not drunk. I’m just a dreamer that’s all.
Matthew: Anyone can be a dreamer when they’ve had enough to drink.
Christina: Well then, what are your dreams?
Matthew: Ain’t got a single dream left. I used to have ’em but I waited them all away. Waited for the perfect job, waited for the perfect wife to have the perfect kids, waited for the perfect house, waited, waited, waited. Now I’m a traveling salesman, which is no better than a politician, all I do is sell lies. No wife, no family, no house because all I did was wait.
Matthew downs what’s left in his glass.
Christina: Sounds like your problem isn’t dreaming, it’s patience.
Matthew: You mean to tell me that I have to wait some more! Bull shit!
Matthew slams down his glass and stands up from the bar, he turns around at the door.
Matthew: Goodnight Goddamn Ballerina.
Christina: Goodnight.
Christina: Well if he had waited a bit longer, I could have showed him this.
Christina shows the bartender her phone, displaying Misty Copeland’s real contact information.
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