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John: Sounds like I might like to straddle her equator with my meridian and throw down with a hula hoop on each arm. How soon can I execute my commission?

Mitchell: Do you like to eat sushi?

John: What else would I do with it?
 
Steve: Fish or cut bait. My friend is an omnivore, but he has a poor sense of direction. 

John: But is she pretty? This Bunny Boucher, I mean.

Mitchell: Some would say she looks Greco-Roman, but I’d describe her as a Hellenized Phoenician transplanted from Trans-Alpine Gaul, or maybe Etruscan, with a hint of Minoan when you see her by moonlight.

John: Is she in the neighborhood? Hand me those peanuts, Steve.

Mitchell: She lives modestly in comfort at a place not far from here. I could track her down if you’re in the mood and have the means. 

John: And she’d be enthusiastic? Tell me more about her. Paint a veritable portrait of this nubile enchantress. They say she’s as pure as bloodstains on a purloined letter. She traded in her Biblical name after she left her home in Mississippi and never spoke of it again. It may be just spotty housekeeping, but who could blame a girl for sweeping off her back porch. She recently had a front end alignment. Her rearview mirror never lets her down, I know that much. After arriving in New Orleans, she passed her bar exam and kept it going way past last call. She’s a sexy banshee when she’s in the catbird seat. Don’t even get me started in on talkin’ strappado in restraint. One thing’s certain, smoke may temporarily blind you, but a fire never lies.

Steve: She sounds like a singular event in a broader sociological context. 

John [as an aside to the audience]: In the broader context of theoretical perspectives, once I favor her looking glass self with a glimmer of my charming folkways, she’ll come away knowing a thing or two about French Impressionism. [to Mitchell] Bring on Miss Bunny, my good man.

Mitchell: Your wish is my command. I’m good friends with one of her regular consorts. His name is Vince, Vince Fettish, the nefarious Fantasy Man. He's a street musician who can usually be found playing for loose change in Jackson Square early evenings. I’ll look him up and make arrangements for your assignation with Miss Bunny.
 
Steve: I’ll drop a twenty just to watch from the sidelines and take notes. Sociological research, you understand, exploring the mind of the voyeur.
 
John: Agreed. It’s always a pleasure to aid and abet a fellow pervert’s perversion. I’ve generally found that when one hand washes the other, the other repays in kind and each comes away fresher for the experience. Other body parts respond in a likewise manner when treated accordingly, and I have known that to be true from direct experience in double-blind clinical trials. Can’t argue with gravity.

Mitchell: Here’s to men of the world.

The three men raise their glasses and cheer in unison: Laissez les Bons Temps rouler!

CURTAIN FALLS
END OF ACT 1.
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