pretty, vacant

part ii of “staying positive,” which has been renamed “MI CORAZON”

[open onto a moderately well appointed office setting. a young condor, balding, with glasses, soft-edged, is working his way through a stack of papers][he is also thinking about the girl condor he loves][muted rap music emanating from the walls]
CONDOR (quietly, seeming on the verge of tears): the disconnect between what i feel and what i do, and between both and what i say has got me all twisted up inside.
DESK (drawer moving like a jaw)(sonorous,; a velvety baritone): do not start with that shit. you are in double dogdirt trouble. stop feeling sorry for yourself and grow a sack.
CONDOR (visibly straining to grow a sack): when i was a child i was convinced there was a curse against me — all my toys broke, especially those with electronic components. mechanical failure was a personal slight against me, and not a possibility in the normal sense. externalized failure invariably brought me to tears.
DESK (scooting away disgustedly): DO NOT. START. THAT SHIT. do you ever stop and think that the topography of your soul is not a sui generis condition? do you know how it feels to be your desk? we are master and condor. i define your purpose yet you define me. can we talk about rap music or tacos?
CONDOR (starting to fly): FUCK YOU DESK
DESK (frowning): Nothing ever ends. Regret does not respond to whatever situation chemotherapy you choose to invent. The only future owed to you is woven from mistakes. Also please vacuum up all these scone crumbs before you turn me into fate’s toilet.
CONDOR (circling room ominously): it’s my world.