LONDON BRIDGE


The rain stops in the London home, not far from Oxfordshire, UK.

Sonny, take out the garbage from the kitchen. I told your mother it is better we had a retard than such a playwright genius the Oxford  professors wrote on his examinations. I will have to take it out as a usually do.

"You have no right to enter my room."

Mr. London sweeps the floors with a mop.

"You have half the house. And no girls or queers are welcome. You're just like prince Charles your drunken  brother, thinking you know more than me. At least he teaches classics. Spoiled brats you are because of your ill mother. And the reason she got sick was because of you in childbirth."

"You married her for her fortune."

"It's fortunate for you."

Sonny takes a revolver from the desk.

"No initiative and that professor calling you Shakespeare and telling us you won the Oscar  Wilde prize for drama. I don't want him sleeping around here. And put that revolver away or you'll go through the revolving door yourself."

The door opens and Charles takes the broom.

"There are too many cobwebs here. And it will take more than one Sherlock or Shylock to tell the real truths about us. It may take a decade to publish what Sonny here is writing about you."

"Write on! Reputations are not lost by one young play write."

"Then why do you spy on Sonny, if you are not afraid. You can't sweep us away with the hard drive."

"Do you think London Bridge will fall?"

The revolver goes off from Sonny's hand and Mr. London falls over on the ground.