The Playwright rather enjoys a quiet moment in the local park. It is a good place to mentally sort his ideas, and is often frequented by pretty young ladies. He once saw a pigeon defecate onto a businessman’s shoulder. It struck him as absurd that such an event is often considered lucky. Surely the luck lay with passers-by who, statistically, were far less likely to be similarly soiled, at that precise moment. Similarly, the Playwright always derived an almost perverse sense of relief whenever he received news that an old friend had developed prostate cancer. Because statistically, he reasoned, such news significantly reduced the chances of him being similarly afflicted. And to be honest, at his age, his prostate needed all the statistical support he could muster.” The Playwright: a dark, romantic comedy about the sex life of a celibate, middle-aged man.