Noviembre Page #2

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but monologues...

You might get laughed at,

that's all.

That's all?

That's the point.

Bullshit. They're supposed to laugh

with us, not at us.

Fine, just drop it.

It's harmless, but fine.

Another beer?

Okay.

I still refuse.

Paco.

Can I have a beer, please?

-Here.

-Thanks.

I won't do it.

Stop worrying, Dani.

Nothing will happen, okay?

That's that.

What?

-Were you there?

-Where?

The day your parents got killed.

You were there, right?

-Why do you ask?

-I don't know.

I was thinking,

it's hard to believe.

I always thought I had rotten luck,

but some people have even worse.

Dani, I was lying.

Bullshit.

It was all a lie.

None of what I said was true.

I made up the whole story.

No sh*t.

I swear.

What?

I don't believe you.

What a bastard!

Excuse me.

You did that scene

with Lucia, right?

Yeah, that's me.

Congratulations. I hadn't seen

anything that good in ages.

That's all I have to say.

-Thanks.

-Bye.

Of course I heard about it.

The entire school did.

In just a few days' time,

from poor orphan to total jerk.

Is acting not an exercise

in bringing credibility to fiction?

Well, he did exactly that.

And in such a way

that everyone fell for it

as if it were absolutely true.

Of course, perfectly.

I remember it perfectly.

I had a scene prepared,

but he was asked up instead.

Yuta was near the stage.

He called on Alfredo, who seemed

a bit uneasy. He went on stage

and sat on one of those crates

we used to use as props.

And Yuta said...

Alfredo.

-Why are you here?

-What?

What for?

Why acting school?

What's your aim?

Me?

To study.

To study what?

Acting.

Why?

What do you mean?

Why acting?

You must have a reason.

Or was it just either this

-or computers?

-Because I enjoy it.

What do you enjoy?

-Acting. I enjoy acting.

-Sure.

Tell me...

What do you think

is the point of acting?

I don't know.

Sometimes it seems like

there isn't one.

But you think there should be,

right?

Yes.

Self-improvement, at least.

To make us more self-conscious,

I guess.

You don't give a f***

about that.

What?

You heard me.

You don't give a f*** about

improving yourself.

You're worried about other things.

That's your problem.

What the hell is this about?

The other day you humiliated me.

Me...

and everyone else.

You lied to us all,

telling us that fable

about your life. Look,

we're not your marionettes.

People come here

to commit themselves.

They reveal f***ed-up things

about themselves.

Horrible things.

They take risks.

But not you.

And on top of that,

you ridicule us?

You're a scumbag.

You respect nothing and no one.

Get off that stage.

Get down.

That's not true.

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