Detroit, a play by Lisa D’Amour
8 min in limbo
“Remember the play about the expensive book that the woman hurled on?”
Sandra’s eyes hardened to green glass. It made Dennis think about his marble collection he had when he was a kid. She was mad. He had done it again, without even trying. His business coach had told him to focus on how to harness his natural abilities to augment his professional strengths. He wished he could make money with his innate ability to strike at Sandra’s Achilles heel. ‘Hurl’ wasn’t even a goddamn profanity! But he was already backpedaling to clarify he wasn’t putting down the goddamn ‘Pulitzer winning oeuvre’. He was losing track of the fact he had intended to use it as an example of how things devolve, like this very moment.
The roaring scream behind his temples was already drowning out her words. He was going to lose another argument. It didn’t matter that he had a great point, he had a lousy way with words.
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