DC Playwrights

squirrel looked at me with angry bloodshot eyes.
“you going to church?” i asked.
“you actually believe in that superstitious hocus pocus crap?”
“i take that as a no.”

i continued getting dressed,
donning my surplice and mitre.
“have you seen my crozier?”
squirrel pretended to be asleep.

as i walked to the door
and put the keys to the kingdom in the lock,
squirrel yelled out,
“hey, can you call me when you’re done
to make sure i am awake?
i am supposed to meet hitch for brunch.”
“hitch?” i said.
“yeah, he and i are meeting up later
with an ex-wiccan
and an alcoholic girl from alabama.
we’re going to ren fair – wanna go?”

“do i have to dress up?” i asked.
“of course,” said the squirrel.
“you don’t want to look stupid.”