A Bald Man With A Fierce Expression

It's late but the streets of Edinburgh are still buzzing with revellers and Fringe-goers. A  crazy atmosphere.

Arthur is on the lookout for Paul Verlaine.

He should have left the Poetry Slam earlier. Paul might be anywhere.

Arthur sticks his head in through the doors of many pubs and wine bars.

He sees fish, and knives and empty bottles, but no sign of Paul.

He passes along a wall stuck haphazardly with posters advertising Fringe Shows.

One is Long Live The Little Knife.

It's on tonight at the Traverse Theatre. Ten pounds a ticket. Paul could well be there.

And if he isn't.

At least it's something relevant to do.

Arthur jingles the two gold coins in his pocket. He has no intention of spending them.

He walks to Cambridge Street and stands outside the Traverse Theatre.

Nice theatre. Circular and high, with people going in.

Arthur enters and goes up to the box office.

Any spare seats going free? says Arthur.

In your dreams, says the girl behind the window. Hey, do I know you?

No, says Arthur. But has a bald man with a fierce expression gone inside?

Are you kidding me? says Rosie. You've just described almost every single Scotsman.

Arthur laughs.

The one I'm looking for is French.

Like you, says Rosie. But not as cute though.

This is going well. At this rate Arthur may get in to see Long Live The Little Knife for nothing.

A bald man with a fierce expression is standing behind Arthur.

He is becoming impatient.

He pokes a hard and bony finger into Arthur.

Get a move on, he says, are you going in or not?

Wait your turn, says Rosie, to the bald man. Oh it's you. Just go in, why don't you.

Arthur turns around.

The bald man has disappeared.

He's the playwright, whispers Rosie. He doesn't need a ticket. But he's entitled to a few. You can have this one.

She hands Arthur a ticket. See you afterwards? she says. My name is Rosie.

Arthur, says Arthur, taking the free ticket.

This is good. It looks like he is in.