(Plato and Aristotle enter a Starbucks and walk to the nearest table.  Plato is carrying a money pouch and Aristotle is carrying a backpack)

PLATO:  (Sits down)  Aristotle, get me a latte!  Get something for yourself, too.  Perhaps some water or soda.  (Hands Aristotle some money.  Aristotle turns to leave)  Imbecile!  Leave the books!  (Aristotle returns, hands Plato the backpack, then hurries off to stand in line)

(Plato sits alone briefly while unloading books from the backpack.  Longinus enters and approaches the table)

LONGINUS:  ‘Lo, Plato!  It’s been a while.

PLATO:  (Looks up at Longinus)  Hmm, yes.  It has been, hasn’t it?  Good show, Longinus.

LONGINUS:  (Distracted, sits down)  A good show?  Well, I saw the Yeah Yeah Yeahs a few weeks back in concert, but I’m not sure you’d be into them.

PLATO:  (Slaps face and shakes head.  Sighs)

(Wordsworth and Coleridge enter, taking seats next to Longinus)

WORDSWORTH:  (Nudges Longinus and gestures to Plato)  What’s wrong with Plato?

LONGINUS:  (Shrugs)  I think he had something on his face.

PLATO:  (His face still in his hand)  Good day, gentlemen.  If you desire something to drink from the café, Aristotle is waiting in line.  Just let him know whatever it is you desire.  (Begins taking books out of the backpack again)

WORDSWORTH:  (Nods to Coleridge)  Right, thanks Plato.  Come on, dudes, let’s get some coffee.

(Longinus, Wordsworth, and Coleridge rise and walk over to where Aristotle is standing.  While giving Aristotle their orders, Derrida enters and slowly walks across the stage while staring at everything he sees.  As Longinus, Wordsworth, and Coleridge return to the table, Derrida stands at the end of the café line)

PLATO:  (Stacks the last of the books on the table.  Looks around the table at the assembled group)  It appears that almost all of us have arrived.  Are we missing anyone?

LONGINUS:  (Looks around the table)  Um…

WORDSWORTH:  (Looks around the table)  I think we’re missing that French dude.  You know, Derrida.

PLATO:  (Rolls his eyes and groans)  Right, yes.  Him.

LONGINUS:  He knows to meet us here, right?

PLATO:  I most certainly hope so, though I would not be surprised otherwise.  Not only is he French but I had Aristotle send the invitations.  I am fairly certain he blundered something.

COLERIDGE:  (Staring at the café line, points out Derrida)  Yo, isn’t that Derrida over there standing in line?

(Everyone turns to face where Coleridge is pointing)

LONGINUS:  Yes, I believe that’s Derrida.  (Turns to face Plato)  Do you want me to go get him, Plato?

PLATO:  (Still facing towards Derrida, pauses briefly)  Yes, Longinus, if you could be so kind.  (Faces Longinus)  Also, if you could please have him give his order to Aristotle, it would be much appreciated.

LONGINUS:  (Rises)  No problem, Plato.  I’ll be back with him momentarily.  (Walks over to Derrida and begins conversing)

(Plato begins wagging his head.  Coleridge pulls out a pack of cigarettes and removes two, handing one to Wordsworth and placing the other in his own mouth.  Wordsworth pulls a lighter from his pocket, lighting his own cigarette before lighting Coleridge’s.  During this time, Longinus has led Derrida to where Aristotle is waiting in line, and now the two men are walking to the table)

PLATO:  Good day, Derrida.  Please, have a seat.  (Gestures to an open chair)

DERRIDA:  Bonjour, M. Plato.  Merci beaucoup.  (Sits)  But please, tell me what you mean by “good.”

PLATO:  (Looks around the table with a bewildered look on his face)  I mean “good” in that this is not a bad day.  (Furrows his brow and strokes his beard)

DERRIDA:  (Claps his hands)  C’est bon!  C’est bon!

(Silence falls as everyone stares awkwardly at Derrida.  Aristotle finally returns to the table carrying a large tray of drinks)

PLATO:  (Turns to face Aristotle)  Aristotle, finally!  I was beginning to wonder if I would ever get to drink my latte!  What took you so long?!

ARISTOTLE:  (Rolls his eyes)  I apologize, Plato.  I would have brought your latte sooner, but everyone kept adding to the order.  They would not make the drinks until I had paid.

PLATO:  (Crosses his arms and harrumphs)  Bah!  A poor excuse.  Now hurry up and give everyone their drinks!

ARISTOTLE:  (Sighs)  Here you are, Longinus, one Caramel Macchiato.  (Hands Longinus his drink)  For Wordsworth and Coleridge, two Java Chip Frappuchinos.  One with whipped cream and one without.  (Hands Wordsworth and Coleridge their drinks)  For Derrida, one double-shot of espresso.  (Hands Derrida his drink)  And for you, Plato, one latte.  (Hands Plato his drink)

PLATO:  Well done, Aristotle.  It seems you may have actually done something right for a change.  (Looks at his drink)  I only hope you remembered to get me skim milk instead of whole milk or Half & Half.  I do not want my latte to cause me to feel bloated and gassy.

ARISTOTLE:  (Sits down next to Plato, closes his eyes, and runs his fingers through his hair)  Of course I remembered, Plato.  I have never forgotten, especially not after the first time you told me.  (Opens his eyes and looks towards the heavens)  Oh, by the gods!  The stench!

(Everyone at the table begins to laugh, except for Plato)

PLATO:  (Hits Aristotle in the arm)  Silence, fool!  You are distracting us!  (Turns to address the table)  Now, gentlemen, let us get down to business.

DERRIDA:  Monsieur Plato, what do you mean by “business”?

(Silence)

PLATO:  I mean what we have all gathered here for, Derrida.  To discuss setting up a school in order to teach literary criticism.

DERRIDA:  (Nods)  Ah, oui.  Please continue.

PLATO:  (Sighs)  Yes, thank you for your input.  Now, if we could please get back on task, I would be most appreciative.  We need to discuss the operation of our school for literary criticism.

ARISTOTLE:  (Gesturing to Plato with his thumb)  He wishes to call it ‘Plato’s Academy of Literary Criticism.’

PLATO:  (Turns to face Aristotle)  Aristotle!  What did I tell you about interrupting?!

ARISTOTLE:  (Raises his hands in silent surrender)

PLATO:  (Clears his throat)  Once again, getting down to business.  (Shoots Aristotle a dirty look)  I brought along the texts and works I wish to focus upon once we have opened the school.  I trust that everyone has read the literature we previously agreed upon?

(Everyone nods in agreement and says “yes”)

PLATO:  (Grins widely)  Excellent.  Now, to begin our preparations, I would like to start with Oedipus Tyrannus.  (Grabs the play from atop the pile of books)  What did you all think of the play?

LONGINUS:  I thought it was great.  I thought the language was excellent.  I sensed a great unity with in the play.  It had great concepts, passion, and characters.  And like all great art, it imitates Nature.  It was sublime!

WORDSWORTH:  (Nods enthusiastically)  Dude, I can totally feel what you’re saying.  This play was absolutely righteous.  I thought the theme of Oedipus’ nature opposing regular human nature was so gnarly.  I mean, who sleeps with their mom, right?  His nature was, like, in total opposition to regular human nature!  It blew my mind.

COLERIDGE:  (Nods)  Seriously, it blew his mind.

WORDSWORTH:  (Pauses)  Oh, and what about how hasty he was?!  I mean, c’mon Oedipus, chill for a sec and think this stuff over!  He totally had all the answers in front of him, but he didn’t stop to chill out and mull it over.  Perhaps over a plate of nachos or something.

COLERIDGE:  Or a Big Mac.  Whenever I need to sit back and reflect, nothing clears my head like a nice juicy “two all beef patties special sauce lettuce cheese pickles onions on a sesame seed bun.”

WORDSWORTH:  (Grins widely)  Oh, dude.  Totally.

PLATO:  (Aghast)  What?!  How could you possibly see this play as a representation of human nature?!  It clearly aims to imitate real human nature and therefore fails completely!  (Pounds his fist on the table)  Imitation is the enemy!  (Sits back to calm down, pausing briefly)  The only meaningful part of the entire play is the ending:  he realizes that he is responsible for his peoples’ plight and leaves his home forever.  He sacrifices himself for in order to serve the state.

(A brief pause as everyone nods their head slowly to Plato’s commentary.  Plato looks at Derrida whom has not answered yet)

DERRIDA:  (Scratches his chin, face scrunched up in deep thought, pauses)  Monsieur Longinus, what do you mean when you say “sublime”?

(A brief pause as everyone stares at Derrida in disbelief.  Plato groans, rolls his eyes, and rests his head on the table.  Aristotle puts his hand over his mouth and begins to chuckle)

LONGINUS:  (Blinking)  Sublime?  Um…well…  (Scrunches his face in deep thought)  …I guess I mean that the language used is excellent.  There’s wholeness or a unity to the play, and its method is great.  The concepts, passion, and figures are great, the phraseology is noble, and the composition is dignified.  (Nods his head to his own response)  That is sublime.

DERRIDA:  (Still scratching his chin)  Ah, oui!  (Claps his hands)  C’est magnifique!  Merci, Monsieur Longinus.

LONGINUS:  Um…  (Scratches his head)  …you’re welcome…I guess.

(A long pause as Derrida sits back in his chair nodding his head.  Aristotle is looking around the table, eyeing Plato somewhat nervously)

ARISTOTLE:  (Clears his throat)  I agree with Longinus, Wordsworth, and Coleridge on their positions of Oedipus Tyrannus.  I believe it is an excellent piece of literature as well.  (Plato jerks himself upright and glares at Aristotle)  It is a prime example of good tragedy:  there is a complication, tensions rise as a result of said complication, the tensions continue to boil until they reach a climax, and in the end there is a resolution to the complication.  The story is about getting the prize, not having the prize.

PLATO:  (Throws the book and pounds his fist on the table, points threateningly at Aristotle with his finger)  You!  How dare you say this play is a quality piece of literature?!  Did I not teach and mould you with my own two hands?!  Did you learn nothing from me?!

ARISTOTLE:  (Shrugging)  I am sorry, Plato, but I am afraid I must concur with these gentlemen.  (Gestures to the rest of the table with his hand)  However, I do agree with you that the play is merely an illusion of real life, but I believe it does so in order to teach a lesson.

PLATO:  And what lesson would that be?!

WORDSWORTH:  Well, for one, don’t sleep with your mom.

COLERIDGE:  (Nods)  Oh, yeah.

WORDSWORTH:  Also, given the circumstances, you can’t escape fate, dude, no matter how hard you try.

COLERIDGE:  (Shaking his head)  Nope.  Not even if you nail a dude’s feet together.

LONGINUS:  Besides, Plato, it’s art’s job to imitate the real.  If art and reality were the same, we’d all be in trouble.

(The entire table nods in agreement except for Plato)

PLATO:  (Short pause, sighs)  I cannot believe you all agree with this nonsense.  Especially you, Aristotle.  I thought I taught you better.  (Crosses his arms aggressively in frustration)

(Aristotle rolls his eyes.  After a slight pause, Aristotle nudges Plato to get his attention.  After a third nudge, Plato turns his head to glare at Aristotle.  Aristotle gestures to the pile of books with his head)

PLATO:  (Stares defiantly at the pile of books for a few seconds before reaching a hand out and picking up a copy of Shakespeare’s Sonnets)  Now, on to the next piece of literature.  What did you all think of William Shakespeare’s collection of sonnets?

(A very brief pause)

LONGINUS:  I thought they were pretty good.  His use of language is most excellent, and the poetry was neither about reason nor argument.  I did have one problem, though:  who is the “dark lady”?  I couldn’t figure out who she is.

WORDSWORTH:  Yeah, I had some trouble with that, too.  And is it just me or did they, like, totally shift in the middle?

COLERIDGE:  Yeah, I totally noticed it, too.  And is it just me or was he writing that first set to a dude?

WORDSWORTH:  Oh, dude, yeah!  I picked up on that, too!

LONGINUS:  As did I.

DERRIDA:  (Nodding)  Oui.

PLATO:  (Nods)  I, too, noticed the same.  I do not know who the “young man” and “dark lady” are, but I am going to assume they are famous members of their society.  (Stroking his beard)  I cannot imagine writing so many poems to simple, ordinary people.

ARISTOTLE:  (Scratches his head)  Shakespeare’s sonnets were not too bad.  They were sound technically, and Shakespeare’s use of figurative language is worthy of merit, but other than that I was not too awfully impressed.  They were too realistic, and it seemed as if there was no real progression in the story.  (Pauses)  His plays are much better.

PLATO:  (Turns to face Aristotle with a slight grin on his face)  It pleases me to see we finally agree on something, Aristotle.  Perhaps I taught you well after all.

ARISTOTLE:  (Mutters)  Do not read too much into it.

PLATO:  Did you say something, Aristotle?

ARISTOTLE:  (Looking surprised)  Me?  No, I did not say anything.  You must be hearing things, Plato.

PLATO:  (Rubs his head)  Hm, perhaps.  (Places the copy of Shakespeare’s Sonnets on the table.  He picks up a copy of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein)  Moving on to the next piece of business:  what did you all think of Mary Shelley’s work of prose Frankenstein?

LONGINUS:  Oh, what a terrific piece of literature!  The language was superb, so eminent!  There was such unity to the story as well!  And the concept!  Man seeking to become a god by building a race of creatures to worship and serve him as their creator!  Not in my wildest dreams would I write something with such imagination.

WORDSWORTH:  Dude, this story is, like, the poster child for Romanticism.  It’s all about the country versus the city, Nature versus the unnatural, the real versus the artificial.  It takes such and ordinary guy as Victor and makes him into someone extraordinary.  It examines the elemental nature of man and just blows your mind.

COLERIDGE:  Right on, man.  This novel is absolutely righteous.  Mary’s imagination is what makes it such a killer story, as well as its unity and form.  I mean, telling the story through a bunch of tales told to some dude on a boat?  It’s, like, a story within a story.  Far out.

WORDSWORTH:  Oh, dude, what about when the monster tells his story to Victor?  That part’s a story within a story within a story.

COLERIDGE:  Right, thanks, dude!  I totally blanked on that detail.

PLATO:  (Puts his hands to his face and inhales sharply)  Please tell me you gentlemen did not just say you actually liked this book.  Need I remind you all that we are here to set up a school in order to teach the art of literary criticism?  We will get ourselves nowhere if we cannot agree on how the school must be run.

(A brief pause while Plato rubs his face in order to help himself calm down)

ARISTOTLE:  (Turns to face Plato)  Well, Plato, if we are attempting to come to some consensus on how we are to run the school, perhaps you should enlighten us as to your opinions of the novel.

PLATO:  (Chuckles)  My opinions.  You want to know my opinions of the novel.

ARISTOTLE:  Yes, Plato, we would like to know your opinions of the novel.

PLATO:  (Sits upright in his chair and squares his shoulders)  Fine, I will tell you my opinions of the novel.  I thought it was terrible.

(A brief pause)

ARISTOTLE:  Do you have a reason why you think the novel is terrible?

PLATO:  (Turns to face Aristotle)  Of course I have a reason!

(Another brief pause)

ARISTOTLE:  Do you feel like sharing your reason for thinking the novel is terrible?

(Another brief pause)

PLATO:  (Harrumphs)  The novel is terrible because of its theme.  Man has no right to play god, particularly by building a monster to worship him as lord and master.  The attempt to imitate God is only one of the faults I found in the novel.  Another fault I have with the novel is that Victor builds his monster for entirely selfish reasons.  Perhaps if he had built the monster to serve the state I may have been able to condone such an audacious action, but the monster instead turns its back on mankind and seeks to have nothing to do with them.  Yet another problem I have with the novel is that the monster is supposed to represent the ideal man.  Everyone knows that art is nothing more than a representation of the real and is in no way comparable to God’s ideal concept.  (Takes a deep breath)  But I must say that the biggest problem I have with the novel is that it serves no greater purpose than an elaborate distraction.  It is by no means a hymn to the gods nor in praise of famous men.  It also fails to serve the state as an example of exceptional behavior.  In no way does man possess the capabilities to give life to something that was previously dead.  If anything, this novel condones deviant behavior, and that is completely unforgivable.  (Leans back in his chair and puts his arms behind his head, smiling to himself for his wisdom)

ARISTOTLE:  (Clears his throat)  I am afraid I must disagree with you on a few points, Plato.  I did not find the novel to be as…“terrible” as you claim it to be.

PLATO:  (Still leaning back in his chair, lowers his arms)  Oh?  Is that so, Aristotle?  Please, by all means, let us know what you found to be so remarkable about Frankenstein.

ARISTOTLE:  (Takes a deep breath)  Well, for starters, I found the plot, characters, and themes to be rather universal.  Though not going so far as to build a monster piece by piece from dead tissue, how often has man tried to become a god?  Though seemingly such an innocent man, Victor is a fool by no means.  He cares deeply for his friends and family.  He would never intentionally do anything to harm them, but that is inadvertently what he winds up doing:  the monster seeks revenge upon Victor for abandoning him.

LONGINUS:  (Nodding)  I agree with Aristotle’s point.  It was almost as if God or Nature was seeking revenge on Victor for defying Him or it.

WORDSWORTH:  (Nodding)  Agreed.  It was like Victor was being taught a lesson or whatever for his actions.  The Wrath of God type stuff, you know?

COLERIDGE:  (Nodding)  Totally.

ARISTOTLE:  My other point is that Victor experiences a complete reversal of fortune for creating the monster.  Not only does he lose everything he has ever cared for, but by the end it is Victor who stands in awe of the monster.  Surpassing him in speed, strength, size, and intellect, the monster has become a god to Victor, and for that Victor fears and hates the monster.  He hunts the poor creature to the ends of the earth.

WORDSWORTH:  (Clapping)  Right on, brother!  Coleridge and I totally picked up on that vibe, too, man.  But, like, one thing I picked up is that Victor was, like, way too emotional.  When he thought up how to make the monster, he went right to work on it and didn’t stop.  It wasn’t until he finished the monster and gave it life that he stopped and thought, “Dude, this monster’s way ugly!”  He should’ve chilled out and given his project some serious thought before getting started.  I thought that was his biggest problem.

COLERIDGE:  (Nodding)  Seriously, bro, it’s all about form.

PLATO:  (Sits up in his chair with a loud thump, groans)  I cannot believe to all agree with this nonsense!  You are all reading the book incorrectly!  Have you forgotten that art is supposed to serve the state?!  (Puts his hand up to his face, mutters)  I cannot believe my teachings have gone so astray.  (Pauses, turns to Derrida)  Wait, we have not heard what Derrida thought of the novel!  I am certain at least he will agree with me.

(Everyone turns their attention to Derrida who is once again scratching his chin in deep thought)

PLATO:  Derrida, what did you think of the novel Frankenstein?

DERRIDA:  (Pauses, still scratching his chin, turns to Wordsworth)  Monsieur Wordsworth, what do you mean when you say “Nature”?

(Plato groans, resting his head and slapping his hand on the table)

WORDSWORTH:  (Blinking)  What do I mean by “Nature”?

DERRIDA:  (Imploringly)  Oui.

WORDSWORTH:  Well…I guess I mean the opposite of civilization, dude.  Like, you know, trees and dirt and stuff like that instead of buildings and roads and stuff.  Like, Mother Nature and all that.  (Pauses)  Does that clear anything up for you, dude?

DERRIDA:  (Still scratching his chin, pauses)  Oui, Monsieur Wordsworth, I believe I understand.  You define Nature in opposition to things that are man-made, n’est pas?

WORDSWORTH:  Um…  (Scratches his head)  …oui, I guess.

(A long silence falls on the table.  Plato still has his head on the table and has not moved)

PLATO:  I cannot do this anymore.  I have developed a severe migraine from this discussion, and I feel as if ulcers are forming in my stomach as we speak.

(Everyone at the table turns to face Plato)

ARISTOTLE:  What are you saying, Plato?  Are you saying that you no longer wish to build a school to teach literary criticism?

PLATO:  (Sits up)  Yes, Aristotle, that is what I am saying.

LONGINUS:  You can’t seriously mean that, Plato.  Surely you’re joking.

PLATO:  I am saying that this has been nothing more than a waste of my time.  And please do not call me Shirley.

WORDSWORTH:  But Plato, we came all this way and worked so hard!  There must be some way we can still make the whole school thing work out!

COLERIDGE:  Yeah, man!  Give it another chance!

PLATO:  (Shakes his head)  No, gentlemen, I am afraid there is really nothing you can say to make me change my mind.  I realize now that the plan was foolish in the first place, and I apologize for wasting all of your time.

(A long pause as everyone sits back in their chairs disgruntled and finishes their drinks)

ARISTOTLE:  (Eyeing Plato suspiciously)  What is your reason for changing your mind so suddenly?  Up until this morning when I drove the two of us out to this Starbucks, you were so exuberant.  But look at you now; you are pouting like a child who had his favorite toy taken away.  (Pauses)  What is the real reason you have changed your mind?

PLATO:  (Crosses his arms, pouting)  No one agrees with my opinions.

ARISTOTLE:  (Bursts into hysterical laughter)  You cannot be serious, Plato!  You no longer desire to open a school to teach literary criticism because those of us seated at this table to don’t explicitly agree with your opinions?!  I believe that may the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard come from your mouth!

PLATO:  (Turns to face Aristotle)  But it is true!  If this is to be my school of literary criticism, it should be logical that those teaching would agree with me!

ARISTOTLE:  Never mind, Plato.  I agree; this was a waste of time.  The only thing we will all be able to agree upon is that we all disagree on everything.

(Everyone rises from the table and prepares to leave)

LONGINUS:  I must agree with Aristotle.  I don’t think we’ll be capable of reaching a mutual level of agreement.

WORDSWORTH:  Yeah, me, too.  I feel the same.

COLERIDGE:  As do I.

(Picking up their belongings, everyone except Derrida begins walking away from the table)

DERRIDA:  (Pauses)  Monsieur Aristotle, what do you mean by “agree”?