Scrolling Through the Neighborhood.

 

Scrolling Through the Neighborhood

(A comic and absurd farce in one act)

By Benjamin Gavarre

Scrolling Through the Neighborhood © 2026 by BENJAMIN GAVARRE is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 4.0

 

Silver Lake, Los Angeles

CHARACTERS:

• MARTIN (32): Hyper-connected, neurotic, internet hypochondriac. Trapped entirely behind the screen of his phone.
• ANDRÉS (62): His partner. Retired, serene, ironic, and contemplative. His main social network is the window and the apartment.

 

SETTING:

A spacious, airy second-floor apartment in Silver Lake, Los Angeles. Upstage, a large picture window looks out onto the street, framed with light linen curtains. To one side, a modern sofa. In the corner, a ceramic bowl with water and organic dog kibble. A kitchen island or side table holds plates, mugs, and half-eaten snacks.

 

[BEGIN PLAY]

(The scene opens with MARTIN sprawled across the sofa in an impossible, pretzel-like posture, the screen of his phone casting a harsh blue glow across his face. He is scrolling compulsively. ANDRÉS enters from the kitchen carrying a mug of artisanal pour-over coffee in one hand and a plate of sliced honeycrisp apples. He wears fleece slippers and a comfortable bathrobe.)

 

MARTIN

(Without lifting his eyes from the screen)

Unbelievable. People in Montevideo are furious because their neighbors changed the name of the Río de la Plata to the "Argentine Río de la Plata"... It’s a... what do you call it when something is totally redundant? A…

ANDRÉS

A pleonasm.

When something is repeated unnecessarily or is already implied by the first term: like "free gift" or "join together." It’s always joined together. Argentum means silver.

MARTIN

(Seemingly not hearing him, or perhaps just ignoring him entirely)

...That president, that president... He’s completely unhinged. Trying to copy that MAGA guy... Hey, what if we rename the LA River the "Pancho Villa River"? Or the "Mexican Los Angeles River"? What do you think?

ANDRÉS

(Ignoring him with absolute elegance. He walks to the picture window, parts the linen curtain just an inch, and takes a sip of his coffee)

Seven in the morning. The neighborhood organic juice delivery van is already double-parked... Must be driven by Moonbeam, that crazy vegan yogi...

MARTIN

(Typing with furious velocity)

And get a load of this brilliant forum comment: "They’re just jealous of us! It kills the other neighborhoods that we’re basically European. We arrived on sailing ships, we weren't born from a messy, bloody colonial melting pot..." The sheer ego of expats, ladies and gentlemen!

ANDRÉS

(Taking another sip of coffee)

Historical blindness. Sailboats didn’t bring a pure race; they brought a mosaic. They forget everyone mixed together once they docked: Italians with Germans, Spaniards with Lebanese...

MARTIN

(Still not listening, eyes glued to the scroll)

Yeah, well, this thread says half their country has indigenous blood running through their veins whether they tried to whiten it out or not. They’re double-mixed! And racist to boot, oh yes!

(ANDRÉS sets the plate of sliced apples on the coffee table right next to MARTIN. MARTIN automatically grabs a piece with his hand, shoves it into his mouth, and keeps scrolling without missing a beat or saying thank you.)

ANDRÉS

(Glancing out the window)

Look at him. There goes the hipster down the hall with his rescue French bulldog. Right on cue, it dropped a microscopic, artisanal Frenchie dump. And of course, he’s not going to pick it up... Oh, wait, he just caught me watching him. (Leans in closer) Ha! He turned bright red. Well, at least he scooped it up with a discarded avocado leaf. Say no more: victory is mine.

MARTIN

(Yelling at his phone)

Ugh, gross! I am so sick of these toxic commenters!

(Quick transition)

Hey, did you see they arrested Dua Lipa again? Or was it Madonna?

ANDRÉS

(Walks over to the dog bowls, fills them with organic kibble using a small wooden scoop)

Attention, gentlemen, breakfast is served. (To Martin) The person who got arrested was Sarkozy.

MARTIN

Who?... Look, they’re paying tribute to the Queen!

ANDRÉS

Which queen? Ever since Elizabeth died, there aren’t many left... Or well, there are, but not quite as... iconic. The Queen of Spain? The one from Belgium? I don't know... When Elizabeth passed away...

MARTIN

The Queen of Hearts! I remember they wrote a song about her... super cheesy... by some American...

ANDRÉS

(Returns to the kitchen and brings out a small plate of jicama sprinkled with Tajín chili powder and lime)

Vicente Fernández? Bad Bunny? Bob Dylan? They’re all Americans—from the American continent.

MARTIN

Bob Dylan? No way! How could it be? The guy with the weird glasses... John something...

ANDRÉS

Elton John. And he didn't write a song about a queen, he just rewrote the lyrics to an old track. Cheater, but a marketing genius. (Sets the jicama next to the apples) Here, eat some jicama.

(MARTIN grabs a piece of jicama and chews it mechanically. ANDRÉS paces around the living room straightening a dish towel. MARTIN remains entirely trapped inside his glass rectangle.)

MARTIN

(Reading with mounting indignation)

Listen to this: "Gen Z and Millennials have zero company loyalty anymore. They quit their jobs after three days because it wasn't their passion or because they feel 'exploited' for twenty-five dollars an hour."

ANDRÉS

Right. They refuse to sell out for a bowl of organic lentils.

(MARTIN doesn't answer; he doesn't even hear him. He performs a lightning-fast swipe and changes posts.)

MARTIN

And this one says thirtysomethings are completely slacking off at work, calling in sick once a month for "mental health days," lying on their resumes, and stealing high-end oat milk from the office fridge.

ANDRÉS

Well, that’s a classic. I always pocketed the heavy-duty staplers, the gel pens, and the Post-it pads. It’s an unwritten rule. It’s exactly like staying at a boutique hotel: you’re legally obligated to take the miniature lavender soaps, the hand lotions, and—if the zipper closes—the waffle-weave hand towel.

(MARTIN shows zero reaction. He remains locked in his screen, babbling random words while his finger skates across the glass. ANDRÉS stares at him, feeling utterly ignored. He decides to test just how far his partner's digital trance goes.)

ANDRÉS

(Muttering under his breath, "playing along"...)

Aha... Well, it looks like the neighbor with the vintage Subaru finally realized her car is a rusted-out junker and she’s switching to a... mhhhttffr...

MARTIN

(Absorbed, half-hearing)

Switching to what?

ANDRÉS

(Smirking mischievously. Raising his voice with the gravity of a catastrophic news anchor)

Well, well, well: looks like Iran just finalized its nuclear stockpile. They're wiping out the entire Northern Hemisphere by tomorrow afternoon.

MARTIN

(Without lifting his eyes from the phone)

You don't say... That’s pretty wild... No, wait...

ANDRÉS

And apparently, Suriname is now the happiest nation per capita on earth... Where the hell is Suriname?

MARTIN

(Murmuring slowly, drowsily)

I used to know that... Is it near the Hamptons?

ANDRÉS

(Ramping up the absurdity)

Good grief, there’s a deadly plague sweeping through West Hollywood. It’s wiped out three million people in two hours. And to top it all off, a nuclear reactor just blew up in Silver Lake.

MARTIN

(Still scrolling, completely unperturbed)

No, I'm telling you... That's awful.

ANDRÉS

(Delivering the punchline with absolute, deadpan seriousness)

And Donald Trump just held a secret summit with an alien in the Oval Garden. The extraterrestrial was very polite: speaks four languages fluently.

MARTIN

(Blinking, half-reacting for the first time)

Who speaks four languages? Oh... I really should get back to my Duolingo Spanish classes. (Glancing toward the kitchen) Say, did you make coffee?

ANDRÉS

(Exploding in pure sarcasm)

You are pathetic!

MARTIN

(Startled)

What? Me? What did I do? I just asked if you made coffee, otherwise I’ll fire up the French press... I’m getting sleepy and I need to shower fast before my remote standup meeting.

ANDRÉS

(Walking toward the window)

Are you telling me that you actually work while I do nothing? Who do you think keeps this household afloat? Why do you think food magically appears in the Sub-Zero? Do you think sliced apples and Tajín jicama grow on the coffee table?

MARTIN

(Jumping up from the sofa and starting his neurotic pacing in circles around the living room)

Oh, don't exaggerate, Andrés! You live glued to that window—I read an article that says it’s a psychological defense mechanism to pretend you’re still participating in society!

ANDRÉS

(Turns around, deeply offended)

Are you calling me old?! You spend six hours straight watching TikTok videos of rescue otters! If you read so much, do something productive besides doomscrolling... Wash the dishes! Wash your own weighted blanket!

MARTIN

My weighted blanket?! Oh, now it’s my fault! And it is not six hours! I have to escape from reality... I work with those mutant tech bros who destroyed the traditional publishing industry. They won't even log on without a matcha latte, how do you expect me to survive working with them all day, huh?! I have earned the right to decompress, and my employer doesn't let me scroll during Zoom calls!

ANDRÉS

(Turning back to the window)

Look at that... A Silver Lake miracle: the city is finally towing away that Tesla that’s been abandoned out front for two years. And it’s not even Christmas.

(At that exact moment, the INTERCOM BUZZES with a sharp, piercing ring: BZZZZ!)

MARTIN

(Pacing faster)

Get that.

ANDRÉS

(Growling)

Fine, I’ll go. Don't stop using your thumb—you know, to swipe your life away... I'm going, I'm going.

(ANDRÉS walks over to the intercom wall unit, lifting the receiver with pure annoyance.)

ANDRÉS

(Into the intercom)

Hello? Who is it?

INTERCOM VOICE

(An aggressively cheerful, overly enthusiastic sales pitch)

Good morning, neighbor! We’re dropping by with our brand-new organic, gluten-free, keto-friendly vegan cupcakes! Hand-crafted right here in Echo Park!

(ANDRÉS pulls away from the speaker for a second, fuming.)

ANDRÉS

(Back to the speaker, sharp as a razor)

What makes you think I want vegan cupcakes?! Just because I’m retired doesn't mean my pancreas is a public park! I don't want your artisanal cupcakes! Good morning.

(He slams the intercom receiver back onto the wall with a loud clack. MARTIN stifles a nervous giggle from the middle of the room.)

ANDRÉS

(Grumbling as he grabs a plate of walnuts)

People nowadays... Now, where were we?

MARTIN

(Stopping dead in his tracks. His face drains of color. His eyes lock onto his phone screen. A heavy, dramatic silence fills the room)

...No. NO!

ANDRÉS

What happened? Did the Golden Gate Bridge collapse again?

MARTIN

(Shouting, hyperventilating)

NO, NO, NO! ANDRÉS! LOOK AT THIS! LOOK!

ANDRÉS

(Unfazed, popping a walnut into his mouth)

If this is another video of a golden retriever riding a skateboard...

MARTIN

(Screaming at the top of his lungs)

IT’S ME! IT’S ME! I’M THE FUGITIVE!

(ANDRÉS sighs, sets his coffee mug down on the windowsill, and walks slowly toward MARTIN. MARTIN shoves the phone right into Andrés's face with trembling hands.)

ANDRÉS

All right, calm down. Fugitive from what? What did you do? Who did you rob? Did you knock over a Trader Joe’s while I was taking my afternoon nap?

MARTIN

Nothing! I haven't done anything! I’ve been right here with you eating out of your generous hand! Ahem... But look at the photo! It’s an official police bulletin! "Alert, Alert: Dangerous fugitive serial killer at large in Los Angeles." LOOK AT IT!

(ANDRÉS grabs the phone, pulls his reading glasses out of his bathrobe pocket, slips them on, and examines the image closely. He looks at the screen, then looks up at MARTIN's face. He inspects him face-to-face, grabbing him firmly by the chin.)

ANDRÉS

(With absolute, chilling coldness)

Huh... Yes. It could be.

MARTIN

(In absolute shock)

What do you mean, "it could be"?! That's my face!

ANDRÉS

Well, there’s a resemblance... But don't flatter yourself too much. The guy in the sketch is considerably younger. And definitely better looking.

MARTIN

(Indignant)

What?! Excuse me, but I am at least that handsome, if not more! Look at these cheekbones! Look at the sharp line of this jaw! Look at these thick yet perfectly arched eyebrows! My bone structure is flawless.

ANDRÉS

That sketch has the jawline of Brad Pitt and the haircut of an AllSaints mannequin. Right now, you have bedhead and a crooked pout.

MARTIN

(Snatching the phone back)

Keep reading, Andrés! "The dangerous fugitive was last spotted roaming the streets of Silver Lake." SILVER LAKE! They know where we live! They know what we do! They're coming for us!

(MARTIN plunges into total meltdown, dashes over to the picture window, and yanks the curtains shut with a violent tug.)

ANDRÉS

Hey, don't close my curtains or I’m changing the Wi-Fi password.

MARTIN

(Clutching his head in terror)

They're going to breach the walls! They're coming down the stairs in tactical gear, listen to the sirens!

ANDRÉS

Alright, drama queen. Calm down. Here, eat a chocolate truffle.

(ANDRÉS jams a dark chocolate truffle straight into Martin's mouth. MARTIN chews it furiously, wild-eyed and agitated. ANDRÉS grabs another truffle and pops it into his own mouth.)

ANDRÉS

A police sketch is just a collection of generic facial features. Slap on two eyes, a rounded nose, and bushy eyebrows, and it looks like eighty percent of the men in this zip code. It looks like you, it looks like my cousin Jonas, it looks like the barista at Erewhon. It’s not you.

MARTIN

(Chewing anxiously)

You think? You’re sure?

ANDRÉS

I'm positive. Besides, if you had actually murdered someone, it would show on your face. You can’t even squash a fruit fly without asking me to fetch the rolled-up magazine.

MARTIN

(Sighing deeply, his shoulders dropping)

You're right... You're right. I just have way too much data bouncing around my skull. Too much scrolling, you know?

ANDRÉS

You don't say.

(They stand side by side in silence, mechanically chewing snacks from the pile of plates accumulating on the coffee table.)

ANDRÉS

(Picking up a piece of jicama)

By the way... This jicama is turning. It tastes like an old college refrigerator.

MARTIN

(Picking up an apple slice)

And this apple is completely oxidized. It’s all brown and slimy. How long ago did you slice these?

ANDRÉS

Ever since you started ranting about geopolitics. About three millennia ago.

(A peaceful silence settles over the room. MARTIN drops his phone onto the sofa. ANDRÉS smiles, walks back to the picture window, and slides the linen curtain wide open.)

ANDRÉS

Ah, perfect. They’ve already filled the parking spot. A hideous matte-black cyber-truck. The world keeps spinning.

(Just one second after absolute peace is restored... the INTERCOM BUZZES! A shrill, deafening, electronic shriek: BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ! Both men freeze instantly in their tracks. MARTIN drops his plate of apples, which shatters on the hardwood floor. ANDRÉS stays frozen with his hand gripping the curtain fabric. Pure, unadulterated panic washes over their faces.)

MARTIN

(In a deathly whisper)

...It’s the SWAT team. The FBI.

ANDRÉS

(In a theatrical whisper)

The tactical choppers. The drone strike!

MARTIN

(grabbing Andrés by the forearm)

Tell them I’m not here! Tell them we got divorced! Tell them I moved to Uruguay to fight tech bros!

ANDRÉS

(Struggling to maintain his dignity, walking at a glacial pace toward the intercom speaker)

Shut up. I’ll answer it. If they shoot through the drywall, make sure you feed the rescue dogs.

(ANDRÉS picks up the intercom receiver with trembling hands. They press their ears together against the plastic casing, shivering with fright.)

ANDRÉS

(In his most dramatic voice, unsure if he's playing along or terrified for real)

...Hello? Who is this?

INTERCOM VOICE

(An ultra-soothing, slow, melodic, beatific voice)

Good morning, neighbors! May peace be with you today. We called because we’d love to gift you one minute of your precious time to share some wonderful news... regarding the End of Days. Would you have a moment to hear the Word?

(A single second of profound realization passes. MARTIN and ANDRÉS look dead into each other's eyes. The panic vanishes instantly. The accumulated tension bursts out in a simultaneous, explosive, unbridled fit of laughter. ANDRÉS slams the intercom receiver back onto the wall while grabbing his stomach in hysterics. MARTIN collapses onto the sofa, completely helpless with laughter, kicking his legs up in the air.)

ANDRÉS

(Between choking laughs)

The... The End of Days! They arrived right on schedule, and we have terrible news for them—a nuclear reactor just blew up in Silver Lake, so you better start praying and have a wonderful rest of your morning, folks!

MARTIN

(Dying of laughter)

You should have invited them up! We could have traded apocalyptic conspiracy theories! See? You were wrong again, Andrés.

(They laugh uncontrollably as the stage lights slowly and warmly fade to black.)

[CURTAIN]