Woman
He didn't believe in god after he lost his best friend in February 1988 in Tehran.
But he is praying now.
Because of my heart.
I must be really unwell.

Man
We were a couple!

Woman
We are a couple!

Man
Like a pair of eyes.

Woman
Like Pepsi and Cola.

Man
Like Iran and America.

Woman
Like our passports.

Man
We were a couple.
/beat./
She knew a lot about art. That's why I know if she was here, she’d fall in love with it. Shame she is not here.

Woman
He has taught me the difference between looking and seeing.
/beat/
This is the New York-Presbyterian Hospital.
Look at the walls filled with copies of famous artists’ works.
/beat/
The Great Wave of Kanagawa

Man
No title by Rene Magritte

Woman
Starry night over the Rhone

Man
No title by Picasso

Woman
Woman with blue eyes.

Man
No title by Rothko

Woman
The dance class.

Man
No title by Willem de Kooning

/beat/

Woman
The posters are cheaper than the ticket price for the museums with these paintings on their walls.
Patients are supposed to forget their tumors, lumps, heart monitors, amputated limbs,
urine containers by looking at art on the walls.
/beat/
Which they do!

Man
Paintings elongate life.
Thank you painting.
You saved my life.

Woman
Everyone here in the New York-Presbyterian Hospital smiles at you.All patients with invisible guns on their temples smile at you.All nurses with morphine syringes in their hands smile at you.They wrote our names on our gowns, so when the doctors give up, they smile at us andthey have something to say: Smile Sarah. Smile Juliet. Smile Emma. Smile Kate. Smile Jasmine./pause/‍

I am a museum full of art but you had your eyes shut. Look.Nothing in this world is a coincidence, nothing! When people die, their souls wander through the world to find a new cover for themselves.These new people, these new animals, these new plants, all of them are vessels for our souls of two, three thousands years ago./beat/‍

Like other hospitals in the world, some people die here, in the New York-Presbyterian Hospital.People who have been told “it’s going to be fine.”

About the play

Third Person Singular explores the gulf between the past and the present, between Tehran and New York, between one heartbeat and the next. Art, love, violence, and loneliness intermingle to paint a portrait of the space between “he” and “she”. This is the Third Person Singular.