(A red curtain rises to reveal a large spotlight. PILLUS stands, facing the spotlight, making slight, discrete movements. At PILLUS’ back, RETE sleeps on his side, facing the audience.)
Ah! To be moist!
(PILLUS glances over his shoulder.)
Get up, you idiot! We’re live!
(RETE stirs, eyes still closed.)
Just five more picoseconds…
(PILLUS heels RETE, who leaps to his feet, eyes wide.)
I’m up! Start sending it through.
(PILLUS narrows his stance and increases frequency of movements.)
A man, Caucasian. Yellow, collared shirt. French cuffs. Brown, patterned necktie, possibly ugly. Pre-industrial eyeglasses. Obvious toupee.
Adjusting to the background.
(PILLUS modifies his stance and stiffens again.)
A board, white. Colored markers. Numbered lists.
I think we’re in a meeting.
(PILLUS examines himself.)
Crap, I’m drying out again.
(The red curtain falls.)