OH TO TRANSFORM

INT. friend's house, a party deep into the night. the music is starting to feel repetitive. 

THE CLOWN

hey, hey, we just met. don't feel bad for messing it up, yeah? it's like, i'm starting to notice none of it is real. not that it's fake, or anything, just a performance. but not in a bad way, just, like, in a sort of okay way. you know? well, of course not. sorry. it's like, say, life if we lived in one of those british school novels, and you had to call everyone Mr James! or Ms Ann! or ey, McDonald! or something, you know? but then you become friends with someone, and they say 'hey, call me eliza,' and suddenly you're united by being on first name basis, and you're in it together for the long run, right? so like, you, we just met, and it's just one of those things, where maybe you'd shiver if i called you Johnson accidentally, but now we can call each other by the right terms. like, it's okay. i can't be immediately discernible as what i am. i just can't. fuck, if i could perform a spell, or hop into a machine, or just cut these things off! or even like, swallow some liquid to burn the higher tones off my voice or something...! but then i'd just be more of a freak, huh? uncannily androgynous. and then i really would never get a job. unless i started painting or something? but that's all, like, kitsch stuff if you want to make money. like. i'm stuck no matter what i do and i just have to hope people can make an effort because yeah, it's really, really hard to rewire your brain and forget it all. maybe in your head your first instinct will always be wrong. and then there's nothing i can do but hope you'll make an effort so that i don't have to hole up in my room and hide from society forever until i die of thirst.