Setting: Occam's small bachelor pad, Occam is shaving at a mirror in the "bathroom"
(lights up, knock on door, Occam walks to door, still shaving)
Occam: Hey, Bob, come in...
Bob: You're not ready!?
O: Gotta shave, man. (returning to mirror and shaving)
B: Shit, we're gonna be late.
O: No we won't, not really late anyway.
B: Let's just move it, alright.
O: Don't worry, I've got a plan.
B: Like what?
O: (stops shaaving) Well, we each drive to the game separately, you take expresswaay, I'll go through mid-town, if we arrive at the ballpark at exactly 1:10, five minutes after the game starts, we should be able to park on 41st, right by our gate, because they let half the ticket takers go as soon as the game starts. Those guys always park on that street; my cousin did it for three years, that's where they are told to park. They get let off from work and they bolt to their cars; so, wham, a few minutes after the game starts, all of a sudden there are about fifty premium parking spots open right next to the stadium, and! You pay nothing for them, 'cause it's a Sunday and they don't enforce the meters. We probably miss a few pitches, max; because they do all that ceremonial junk on the field before the actual start.
B: Why would we do that?
O: Dude, just explained that.
B: No you... keep shaving, man (O returns to shaving)... you didn't explain anything.
O: Yeah, I did. We just miss a few pitches... it's a flawless plan.
B: Ummm... why do we take separate cars exactly?
O: Uhhh... don't know... kinda rub it in... you know? We get the prime spots together. Total high-five!
B: Why should we take separate routes there?
B: No reason, man.
O: (stops shaving) No... like terrorism?
O: If something hits than one of us survives.
O: Then at least one of us sees the big game.
B: If "something" hits, then the game is probably cancelled.
B: Yes. Cancelled or destroyed.
O: Okay, so we'll go together. Happy?
B: Better. Keep shaving man, we've got to get going.
O: But, we still do the parking on 41st, get there a couple minutes late? (starts shaving again)
B: No. I hate getting there late, you have to drag yourself past everyone sitting down already.
O: Yeah, but free parking man.
B: Save on parking so we can annoy a whole bunch of other fans?
B: Fans we have to be next to for three hours?
B: No thanks, man.
O: C'mon, it'd be a huge parking score.
B: I'd rather pay a little bit, park ten minutes away and get there on time.
B: What's the point of waiting twenty minutes here to ave a couple bucks and ten minutes of walking time?
O: 'Cause we'd be right next to the park man... you know, about as close as you can get without using the players underground lot.
B: Whatever, just finish shaving.
O: I'm getting there...
B: Besides, what's the point in driving in the first place?
B: Take the subway, it stops about a block from the park.
O: Oh yeah, I guess we could do that... miss out on the parking orgasm though...
B: Keep your parking-related sexual fulfillment to yourself.
O: (finishes shaving, splashes water on his face, towels off, pulls on his shirt, something strikes him) Oh! Hey!
O: We could just walk.
O: Five blocks, six to the gate.
B: Be there fifteen minutes early.
O: Don't have to worry about cars.
B: Or fares, or anything.
O: Yeah. (grabbing a ball glove) Let's head.
B: (opening door, O starts out) I was wondering what the hell you were talking about for a while.
O: Yeah, that was kind of weird. This is much simpler, isn't it? (he's out the door)
B: Yep, simple. Hey, Occam, should I hit the lights?
O: Yeah. Thanks.
(lights out, door closes behind Bob)
Nice. I like the fact that if you're seeing the play performed, you don't know the character's name is Occam until the end, though an attentive viewer might figure that out from the shaving.
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