It’s a tax write-off. This is where they send the new, the underqualified, the old. And most of all the British.
Mars is full of blonde Americans. It’s like they’re building the master race out there.
Billions of miles from home, the lone research base on Pluto has lost contact with Earth. Unable to leave or send for help, the skeleton crew sit waiting.
Waiting long enough for time to start eating away at them.
To lose all sense of it.
To start seeing things in the dark outside.
Can you help me?
I really feel like I’m…
I’m hanging on by my nails here…
New play from the writer of Pomona
To follow the work of anyone in this show, click a name and select Follow. Any new work will show up in your personalised Feed and Notifications.