SARAH: Sneachta, sneachta!
SARA: Ah, she's speaking in tongues. I knew this day would come.
SARAH: Sneachta is the Irish word for snow. I dislike most Irish, but I really like that one word. Because it sounds like boots! Like boots crunching on the snow.
SARA: So not speaking in tongues. But still quite clearly insane.
Things New York has taught me
: (in agitated whispers) What are they doing? Why is the tall slutty one
I. Chivalry Is Dead
SARAH: Haven't had fresh fruit in a week. Will indubitably get scurvy. Must reach last apple... Must seize last apple...
NYC GENT: *seizes at same time as Sarah* I'm sorry, I really want that apple.
SARAH: So do I!
NYC GENT: The only other thing left is bananas and I hate bananas!
SARAH: So do I!
NYC GENT: You can't possibly hate bananas as much as I hate bananas. I've hated bananas all my life.
SARAH: My mother is a sex therapist and she used to give talks in schools and private talks at home and there were horrible demonstrations and condoms and lifelong scars and I want my apple!
NYC GENT: Yeah, okay.
II. Yankees Are Lightweights
... that's all. :)
III. The Truth About that Alligator Rumour
SARAH: So, okay, cockroaches have powers. They can survive atomic blasts! Enormous cockroaches would have enormous brains and thus be cunning enough to keep themselves hidden. So the alligators in the New York sewers are nothing more and nothing less than alligator-sized cockroaches!
( pause )
SARAH: I'm sleeping with my can of Raid under my pillow again tonight. And the light on.
( bed creaks )
SARAH: DIE KILLER COCKROACH DIE!
VINCENT THE CAT: Get a hold of yourself, woman.