Writing for theatre…
Outside. A concrete building towers above the dusty soil of where a playground once stood. But the 12 floors don’t even scratch the surface of humanity’s claws into the sky. The sun shines, blinding and bright. Yet is only able to highlight this monotone world of tarmac, glass and cement. A single weed, a dandelion, crawls out from the corner of the building, even its once yellow petals are now merely the muted beige of business-women’s Friday wear.