(A
PIE sets on a window sill. Passers
by.)
PASSERS
Look! A pie! Hist, hist!
PIE
Yes,
gawk, you villains! Here I sit,
like a head on a pike, the life slowly training from fluted crust!
PASSERS
Hist,
hist!
(The PASSERS
keep bying. The PIE keeps
a-crying.)
END OF “THE SAD PIE.”
