1. Don't Talk to Me.
She dressed like a mime to avoid talking to people. She applied makeup, found an black unitard and white gloves. Shuffled like she was inside an invisible box if someone—like canvassers on corners—called to her. She spotted the other mime capering around the Living Statue—noticed him following her but never catching up. Maybe thinking she was a kindred spirit. He kept scaling her damn invisible walls.
2. Instructions.
Difficult to speak tongues all day and pretend the Lord's in your throat. Gibberish must be divine but inconsistent—no pattern if possible, but humans are repetitive. Gaze should be glassy yet fixed, otherwise people will come to you for spiritual guidance. Keep your foot tapping beside the collection plate and Mary Magdalene between your legs—scrub her ceramic with your fingers to keep the warm. Props are important.
3. Valid Criticism.
The argument isn't rehearsed—they stood at the bus stop, shouting at each other. He worried, meeting her in a parkade after storming off in separate directions, that the dialogue was too Neil Simon. "When you insult my mother, is it a big mother-in-law cliché?" She wanted to tell him his mother once threatened to poke her eyes out with a meat skewer. Maybe in the rewrites.