Two bombs in one day is a foul coincidence
Don't forget the lightning strike
A normal day. A person stands in the market square watching the world go by.
What happens next verges on the ridiculous.
There's ice cream. Sunshine. Shops. Some dogs. A wedding. Bombs. Candles. Blood. Lightning. Sandwiches. Snipers. Looting. Gunshots. Babies. Actors. Azaleas. Famine. Fountains. Statues. Atrocities. And tanks. (Probably).
Rory Mullarkey's new play asks whether things really are getting worse. And if we care.
Don't forget the lightning strike
A normal day. A person stands in the market square watching the world go by.
What happens next verges on the ridiculous.
There's ice cream. Sunshine. Shops. Some dogs. A wedding. Bombs. Candles. Blood. Lightning. Sandwiches. Snipers. Looting. Gunshots. Babies. Actors. Azaleas. Famine. Fountains. Statues. Atrocities. And tanks. (Probably).
Rory Mullarkey's new play asks whether things really are getting worse. And if we care.
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