Richard Vale, speaking with subject Jane Charlotte, of…What’s your current home address? Holding the tape recorder to his lips, he recites: June 5th, 2002, approximately nine forty-five a.m. As for why I’m in this room, with you, I guess that has something to do with what I told the detectives who arrested me. I’m in jail because I killed someone I wasn’t supposed to, she says, matter-of-factly. Unless they moved the room… Then: Las Vegas, Clark County Detention Center. When she shrugs, he asks: Do you know where you are? I’m here to interview you, if that’s all right. He shuts the door and comes over to the table. A man in a white coat steps in, bringing more props: a file folder and a handheld tape recorder. Occasionally the woman glances up at the photo, or at the door that is the room’s only exit, but mostly she stares at her hands, and waits. A photograph of a smiling politician hangs on the wall above the table. Her hands are cuffed in front of her she is dressed in an orange prison jumpsuit whose bright hue seems dull in the whiteness. Not featureless, but close enough to raise suspicion that its few contents are all crucial to the upcoming drama.Ī woman sits in one of two chairs drawn up to a rectangular white table. IT’S A ROOM AN UNINSPIRED PLAY-wright might conjure while staring at a blank page: White walls.
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