The Comedy of Errors

As the door hit its cue to slam, which it did not, as it had been wedged open by some mould for the past three weeks, I felt my inside pocket for my money and my, or should I say, my landlord’s, letter opener. You could never be sure in London, could you? I knew the route to the theatre like the gritty texture of my bedsheets. Ever so familiar. What could I say, ever since my first day of redundancy the four o’clock play is my only recurring plan for each and every three hundred and sixty five days of the year. If told me the name of a Shakespeare play, I could probably recite at least half of the script, don’t you think? I better get going or otherwise I will be late, it’s already ten in the morning.

The unkept walkway of the road adapted to my very footstep. Grainy dirt seeped through the hole in my right shoe like sand between fingers. As I neared Bishop’s Gate, the chariots of the rich came into view. The overwhelmingly serious chauffeur, the lavish velvet lining of the hooded chariot, the teacups. All of it was textbook inheritance wealth. There were two halves. The rich and the poor, and I was in the middle. That still does not mean I could afford to pay my rent. In fact, I was supposed to be evicted tomorrow. From then on, the soil would be my pillow. The musty air of the smoky skies would be my oxygen, and the very streets of London would be mine to roam. The grandest estate of them all. What a time to be alive.

A few boys sat leaning on a shop window, eyeing me. Of course they were. The glint of poverty dwelling in the depth of their eyes. They were envious, and envy only matures through age. One took of their jacket, strands of the fabric flaked out of the collar. For heavens sake the jacket sagged down to his knees. Of course it wasn’t his. The boy with the jacket approached me, but stayed out of at least a five meter proximity. He reached out one of his shivering fingers, the caked dirt luminous under his overgrown fingernails, and called for me. And what did I do, oh silly me. I followed.

“Give us all you’ve got!” Another seethed, whilst simultaneously attempting to knock a grown man down to the floor. I could not take them seriously. He was practically stroking me. I laughed. The faint chuckle transformed into a loud cackle. The boy stepped backward.

“What’s so funny to you?”

I just continued to laugh and laugh. I could barely even breathe, hardly noticing the gang of three boys beating me to the ground and stealing all my thirteen pennies. I lay on the floor, continuing to giggle like a toddler. Like I cared. I was going to the theatre!

And there it was. The majestic Globe Theatre. I reached for my pocket, and withdrew my one penny. As I placed it in the wooden planked bucket, I realised it was just a pebble. Never mind. I was at the theatre! I prepared for the action, and there it was, welcoming me like my very own family. The crowd of groundlings moving as one as if they were soldered together. It was eleven past four. The play had just begun. Romeo and Juliet, read the banner. A new one. Another one to learn off by heart. I embraced the homeless men around me like my own brethren. I embraced the spittle of the wealthier from above. I embraced my surroundings because that was who I was. What a time to be alive.