Fleabag Play Script //free\\ ❲Edge❳

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

Oh right. You paid for a ticket.

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. fleabag play script

You’re still here. Why are you still here? This piece captures the play’s essential loneliness, its

My mother used to say I had “difficult hands.” Not ugly. Difficult . Like they were always reaching for something they shouldn’t. A hot stove. A married man. The last biscuit. An actual guinea pig

Anyway. The guinea pig. I finally took it to the park at 2 a.m. Dug a hole with a spatula. Said a few words. “You were small. You were furry. You didn’t deserve my incompetence.” Then I went home and masturbated to a video of a man building a log cabin. Don’t ask.