Fleabag Play Script -

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.

You’re still here. Why are you still here? fleabag play script

That look. I know that look. It’s the “oh, you’re still doing this” look. My dad has that look. He wears it like a cravat. My mother used to say I had “difficult hands

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. A hot stove

I miss my best friend. I know you’re supposed to say that quietly, into a pillow, with a glass of white wine and a Joni Mitchell record. But I’m saying it here. To you. With red wine and no record. Because the needle’s broken. Because I broke it. Because I break things. Not on purpose. That’s the worst part. I break them with love.