The Comedy of Errors (or People Who Say Err A Lot)

[City street. Mr. Strainer is out of breath. He is trailing a step or two behind Frank, having finally caught up with his quarry after a fast-paced, action-packed pursuit punctuated by soundbites of Mr. Strainer’s muculent wheezing and the click of his phone unlocking so he could search ‘best recovery position method’.]

Mr. Strainer [now side-by-side with Frank]: “Okay, Joshua, if that is your real name ⁠— ”
Frank: “My name is Frank.”
Mr. Strainer: “Don’t be coy.”
Frank: “No, not coy ⁠— Frank.”
Mr. Strainer: “Stop beating around the bush.”
Frank: “I’m telling you, my name is ⁠—”
Mr. Strainer: “I just wish you’d be frank.”
Frank: “I am Frank!”
Mr. Strainer: “Alright, have it your way… ‘Frank’.”

[Frank throws up his hands in exasperation. The audience does not know why he’d eaten them.]

Mr. Strainer: “I’ve a bone to pick with you.”
Frank: “I thought you might.”
Mr. Strainer: “Well, aren’t you clever!”
Frank: “Only on my father’s side.”
Mr. Strainer: “You mean by heredity?”
Frank: “No, I mean on his side. If I stand by anybody else I’m a dunce.”
Mr. Strainer: “Good grief, man. I’m beginning to get the measure of you now. You have my sympathy.”
Frank: “Thank you, most generous. And I didn’t get you anything!”

[The pair walks into the sunset. The apple falls down the drain.]

Frank [off screen]: “And what did you want to talk about?”
Mr. Strainer [off screen]: “Oh, just the price of the weather. The hot onions we’ve been having. You know. Isn’t that what it’s all about?”

[Fin. Tail. Gills.]