BROTH BITCH, Saturday, 2041

Character note: NIKKI is a hard-edged 58 year-old-woman but more mellow in this podcast. We’re

now 13 years on from Friday’s podcast.

Format note: This is a fictional podcast and the following text is all performed as an audio piece.

Script

As NIKKI speaks, it should sound like a pretty quiet environment but she’s sitting in a car, and we can

hear that she’s not inside a house.

NIKKI: Saturday 31st August, 2041.

Rosa Rosa Rosa.

It’s Nikki Sukpraserit.

Hey.

Beat.

NIKKI: Sorry. I know you sent the last message and it was my turn to. I’ve got a backlog of

voice messages I’ve been meaning to send you. But this year’s been. I—it’s been

hectic at home, in the kitchen.

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Beat.

NIKKI: On that. Hope you don’t mind. I’ll upload this message as a podcast too. Been slack

with uploading content. And my subscribers, the lovely loyal ones that are left—hi out

there, thanks for hanging in—they like these podcasts. Our collabs. I’ll upload your

reply too.

Beat.

NIKKI: Rosa. I’m actually—I’m here. I’m in Italy. I’m not joking. I know we’d joked about it.

But. Surprise.

I’m definitely, yep. Sitting in a car, on the road, in the queue. Is this? I guess this is

your driveway to your. Your. I’m going to say family house. I know you call it a prison.

Beat.

NIKKI: I’ve—actually, I’ve been in Italy for a couple of weeks. I came—I tried to come here

first thing but. Turns out there’s a fucking application just for the pleasure of sitting all

day in this queue. Did you know—or maybe you don’t. All the admin.

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Beat.

NIKKI: You should see my visitor pass. I pulled this. That sort of smile snarl we used to do.

That’s my face. On the pass.

Beat.

NIKKI: You and me, face to face.

Fuck.

Ha. I stopped dying my hair fyi. Grey as fuck.

Beat.

NIKKI: When I—I’ve been reading, if I get inside what’s it. Do I—is it like going to the doctors?

Glass screens. Or do you come to your monitor, I stay at the visitor monitor? But

everyone who visits, we get a wafer. Ella’s baking, right? But your recipe.

Beat.

NIKKI: I’m in this fucking fancy rental car.

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 I know everyone’s in their cars. But mine’s fucking fancy.

I. I spent the money on it. Because. The security system in here is fucking top-notch.

I’m a fucking pussy now, I’m not afraid to say it. I’ve driven around here. But I don’t

get out. I don’t stop to sight-see. In case. In case I dunno. Bandits.

Maybe it’s just Milan. There were a lot of broken windows, in cars.

Maybe I’m just turning into my mother.

NIKKI laughs.

NIKKI: According to @SocialCriteria2011, you’re a:

[Reading.] Fuckin fat fuck princess not a prisoner. The only prisoner is Ella. Free Ella.

Beat.

NIKKI: Hey @SocialCriteria2011. She’s not a prisoner. She’s a daughter and she’s with her

mother.

Asshole.

Beat.

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NIKKI: Fuck. So much commentary.

Rosa de Fazio is irrelevant.

Rosa de Fazio is missing the point, the world’s moved on.

A ‘demon’. That’s coming up a few times. That you’re actually a demon. For fucking

real.

Beat.

NIKKI: A guard’s coming over.

Beat.

NIKKI: Nope. Nope. Walking away.

Beat.

NIKKI: Did I tell you? Poppy did her first delivery for me. Well. She knows the business inside

out. And the van’s modified for her anyway. She was gone for hours so I rang the

customer. Hated having to do that, they were mourning. But I had to check if the soup

had gotten there. It had. On time, hot. Afterwards, Poppy had gone driving into the

countryside, just for fun. The fuel costs were obscene. I yelled at her when she got in.

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Beat.

NIKKI: That felt shit. She’d had a good time driving.

Beat.

NIKKI: Is Ella still—What was she? Was she studying? Did she finish that course? I know she

looks after some of your channels. Full-time?

Beat.

NIKKI: Poppy—she actually. She’s moving out. Soon. Her doc, the psych, OT, PT, everyone—

Poppy says they support it. But. Maybe I’m the only one—it’s just. I know she’ll be fine.

She’ll be close by. But.

Beat.

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NIKKI: If you ever want to kill half a day, for my next message, the next podcast, I’ll explain

the legacy loopholes to you. Passing the business down. Poppy—she asked me to. In a

few years or so. She thinks she’ll be up for running the business. Owning it.

Beat.

NIKKI: Fuck. You’ll laugh. I ended up buying those housing shares, for the—the fucking hippie

commune. 10km from the city.

I’ll move in once I stop the business. Get back to cooking soup for women, a small

group of women. Have them cry into my lap.

There’s still one room up for grabs. Just saying.

Beat.

NIKKI: I brought you soup.

Beat.

NIKKI: It’s still warm, I put it in a heat bag.

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 Should’ve brought more to bribe the guards.

Or if I have to wait another hour, I might end up eating it myself.

Actually. Here’s an idea. Next business venture. You and Ella. Get one of those coffee

carts going. Sell those wafers too. Put the cart. Go up and down this road. Keep all of

us fuckers fed. You’d make a killing. You could—

Beat.

NIKKI’s looking outside her car window. Something catches her attention.

NIKKI: I. I think—what. That’s Ella.

Beat.

NIKKI: Rosa. She’s.

Beat.

NIKKI: Ella’s.

She’s just.

She’s getting into a car.

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 She’s.

With one of the. The demon people, the t-shirts.

And. She’s—is she leaving you? She is.

Rosa. I’m sorry.

A slight muffling.

End.

CREDITS: Broth Bitch

‘Saturday—Prison’

Written by Michele Lee

Directed by Ming-Zhu Hii

Dramaturgy by Jessica Bellamy

Performed by Maia Thomas

Sound design and composition by Russell Goldsmith

Thanks to consultations from Hanna Cormick, Julia Gaulton, Jane Ly, Micheline Lee

and Chrissie Robinson

With support from Australia Council, Melbourne Fringe Festival and Vitalstatistix

Made on Wurundjeri land, always is, always will be Aboriginal country