Lights up on a break room, beige, boring, and bleak. The audience knows it’s a break room because it has sad, round dining tables (none of which are entirely clean), mass-produced molded-resin chairs (one step above the metal folding kind), and paper napkin dispensers. There’s also a large counter with a sink, a microwave, some depressing MDF cabinets, and a bargain-basement fridge. The lighting is criminally offensive. 

Stage right, two men are seated. One (Omar) looks distraught, his head in his hands. The other (Daniel) leans in, trying to comfort his friend. Stage left, someone is seated at a different table, facing mostly upstage. Their head rests on the surface of the table. Are they sleeping? Weeping? Dead? Maybe we’ll find out. 

OMAR: I don’t know, man.

DANIEL: I get it.

OMAR: No, you don’t.

DANIEL: I do, I promise. It’ll be fine.

OMAR: You don’t, and it won’t.

(Daniel sips sad, cold coffee from a sad paper cup. Grimaces. Pause. He decides to take a different approach.)

DANIEL: I think you’re looking at this the wrong way. She was an amazing human being, and we were blessed — 

OMAR: (Without looking up) Ew. 

DANIEL: We were fortunate to have breathed the same air. How many people accomplished as much as she did?

OMAR: (Thinking for a moment) Oprah. Madonna. Meryl Streep. George Clooney. Patrick Stewart. Ian McKellen. Dame Judy Dench. Patti LaBelle, but only in grocery stores…

DANIEL: Well — 

OMAR: Cher, obviously.

DANIEL: Okay —

OMAR: (Looking up. Realization!) Oh, god, what if we lose Cher?

JAVIER: (Wailing and sobs)

DANIEL: (To Javier) Cher is fine.

OMAR: But she won’t be around forever.

DANIEL: Despite the rumors, probably not.

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