Showtime by Alexander Weenink

Showtime  by Alexander Weenink

“It’s Showtime.”

He says as he walks up to the party,

His lines unwillingly learnt:

“Where are you from?”

“What course are you doing?”

“My surname is Dutch but I’m actually Maltese.”

“Oh – erm – tiny island, under Sicily.”

He soon runs out of lines.

And the conversations run dry.

So he runs home.

Not Home, but home.

“It’s fine.”

He says, knowing he has said that too many times already.

“That was just a rehearsal.

Next time…

It’s Showtime.”



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