Script ^hot^: Fleabag Play

Welcome to the mess. It’s got central heating and a broken lock. Please, take a seat. There’s wine in the glass if you want it. Or don’t. I won’t be offended. I’ll just assume you’re dead.

So that’s where we are. I’ve got a freezer with less guilt in it, a spatula with dirt under the rim, and a face that looks like it’s just seen its own ghost. fleabag play script

Oh right. You paid for a ticket.

This piece captures the play’s essential loneliness, its scab-picking humor, and the raw address to the audience as both confessor and voyeur. Welcome to the mess

That’s the thing about death, isn’t it? It’s the admin. The voicemail you have to delete. The jumper you can’t throw away because it still smells of their neck. The freezer full of frozen rodents you’re too much of a coward to bury. There’s wine in the glass if you want it

If she were here, she’d tell me to stop talking to the audience. She’d say it’s “theatrically indulgent” and “borderline unhinged.” And she’d be right. She was always right. That’s why I loved her. That’s why I…

So. The guinea pig died. Not a metaphor. An actual guinea pig. My friend’s. Well, she’s not my friend now, obviously. I was housesitting. I was supposed to water the fern and not kill the rodent. I did one of those things. Guess which.