Script, part 2.

Moonlight: Let us dance then, let us swim; in the midnight hour. Let us hold our metaphorical hands, and dance under moonlit shower. Shall the foes come upon; and shall jackets quibble. For you and I, we're not of the sun; we are no men of mud. As I sweep upon the ballroom; quilted in white and silver. And as you tango to the thriller; you know Billie Jean's not my son. For when did a moon ever have a son? (Or a daughter for that matter). But Karl, I do claim you're the one.
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PROPER END OF SCENE ONE. SET CHANGE. KARL IS STANDING THERE, SURROUNDED MY ADORING ADMIRERS.

Scene 2: Karl is surrounded by admirers, and he holds court. It is inside the villa; and everybody is thin. Yet, Karl is bored by their conversation.

Admirer 1: Karl, with your collar so tight: will you drink this gin?
Admirer 2: I must protest, for I believe what Kaiser Karl needs is some railroad medicine.
Admirer 3: Ye cannot mix them, ye cannot hold them; 'less you want a punched cigarette.
Admirer 2: Yet who here holds a cigarette in time? For they're not healthy even though they're slim.
Admirer 3: Young lass, this is true. Did you hear 'bout baby's new rags? I hear they're jeweled and she's got a new fine diplomat.
Admirer 1: Oh, that she does; that she does. An' she's got a leopard skin pillbox hat.
Karl: I don't have a problem with that; as long as I know if it's really the expensive kind.
Admirer 1: Why yes, it is; it cost two gold coins; and a Chanel jacket at that.
Admirer 1, 2 and 3 all together: BLESS CHANEL! BLESS CHANEL! BLESS HER LITTLE BOB.
Karl: But what about me? High collars one, two, three? Rings I count twenty? And red, white and blue shoe strings I count none.
Admirer 1, 2 and 3 all together: BLESS KARL! BLESS KARL! BLESS HIS RINGS AND SKINNY JEANS.
Admirer 2: Ye, the skinny jeans are fine; so very divine. Anna would drink them with her wine.
Admirer 1: Low calories! Low calories! Skinny jeans how no calories. High fat they're not; the fatties dare not wear.
Admirer 3: Look at how I wear my skinny jeans; how I strut upon the ground in them. See how the demode ones run away; as I come asunder.
Anna: Oh did somebody mention gin, my phony friends? Did somebody mention gin. Oh how I crave a drop of the liquor; how I drive for a drink of booze. Allow me to take that gin, and put it somewhere other. Like a magician and his magic trick: I shall make it disappear.
Admirer 1: Vanish?
Admirer 2: Evaporate?
Admirer 3: Cease to exist?
Anna: Why yes, of course! And behold the empty bottle. For I have gurgled and I have guzzled; it's magic liquid out of. But now I must move on, for that magic malevolent maven; that madame of the moors; that alcohol that warms my tum; is here no more.
Admirer 1, 2, 3 together: Farewell dear Anna! Farewell! Travel well, and good, and chic. And may you always be thin; and may your wishes all come true.
Karl: Anna, however will I cope? Without you there is none.
Anna: Talk to the jackets and talk to the logos, and your beloved moonlight dear! For I am not there, I'm drunk. I'm out of it, stone cold.
[Anna passes out]

Karl: Sans Anna, sans diet Coke, sans Moonlight, sans everything. Where am I to go? (I am trapped in a closet with the Parisian blues again.)
I must build a rocket. One not big; or heavy; or fat. A rocket set for the moon; a rocket set to move the moon and to pull the moon, and to set it in the closet.
A red rocket; if I am to see the moonlight again. A rocket red; quilted rocket; set for the stars but bound for my closet.