CINNA: Excuse me. 

SERVILIA: Oh! You scared me. How long have you been sitting there? 

CINNA: A few minutes. 

SERVILIA: Oh, I'm sorry. Nobody warned me. Are we rolling? Okay, I guess we're rolling. Let me just find my notes. I'm sorry. This is embarrassing. What's your name? 

CINNA: I'm sorry, I'm Cinna. I thought you knew that. I was invited here, after all. 

SERVILIA: Oh. Cinna, right. Cinna. You don't know me, but I know you—or at least, I know about you. 

CINNA: Ah, my reputation precedes me. 

SERVILIA: Yes. Well, let's just say I've had an insider's look to the conspiracy against Caesar. 

CINNA: Conspiracy against Caesar? What does that have to do with me? 

SERVILIA: Come on, you know—Brutus, Cassius, Casca, Decius? 

CINNA: No, no, no, no, no—that's not my crowd. 

SERVILIA: But you just said you're Cinna, one of the conspirators against Caesar. He is dead. It's not a secret. Everybody knows who did it. 

CINNA: I know the Cinna you're talking about. That's not me. I'm Cinna, the poet. 

SERVILIA: A poet? 

CINNA: Uh-huh. 

SERVILIA: You're a poet? 

CINNA: Uh-huh. 

SERVILIA: Okay, now I'm really confused. What is a poet doing here? 

CINNA: I don't really bother much with politics except as a subject for poetry, when it's warranted. It's not really my thing. You see, art—that's what life is really about. These politicians, warmongers, putting all their energy into the wrong things—things that will kill people. But wouldn't it be better if we put that energy toward art, toward beauty, toward relationships and telling the tale of those relationships—every twist, and turn, subtle detail? Or just a poem about war. Wouldn't a poem about war be infinitely more valuable and sane than an actual war? We have enough passion, and envy, and love, and beauty, and jealousy, and joy in our own relationships to keep our imaginations, and our bodies, busy, 24/7. Why waste time on politics and power play and empire? I just don't get it. 

SERVILIA: Make love not war. 

CINNA: Exactly. Make love, not war. That's good. Are you a poet yourself? 

SERVILIA: Oh, no, that's just an expression. 

CINNA: Oh. Well, I'm here. We might as well start talking. I imagine you're curious as to some of the poetry I've been working on. 

SERVILIA: Yeah, sure. You go ahead. I'm just going to continue to look through my notes here. There are Cinnas all over the place, but not Cinna the poet. 

CINNA: Actually, I should warn you. I'm in a bit of a weird mood. 

SERVILIA: Is that right? 

CINNA: Yeah. I had a dream I was at a feast with Caesar, and I'm left with this bad feeling I can't seem to shake off. 

SERVILIA: That sounds like a good dream. 

CINNA: Well, that's the thing with dreams, right? You have a good dream, that means something bad is going to happen. Dreams work in opposites, you know? 

SERVILIA: No, I didn't know that. 

CINNA: Wandering around the streets is the last thing I should be doing, yet here I am. So if I can't help myself—actually, that's a good idea for a poem. The feeling of wandering, yet against your will. 

SERVILIA: Oh, my goodness, here it is. It was stuck to the back of the last one. 

CINNA: Ah. 

SERVILIA: Now we can get back on track. 

CINNA: Okay. 

SERVILIA: So let's see—oh my. now I remember. This is not going to be fun. 

CINNA: Not going to be fun? What are you looking at over there? 

SERVILIA: Oh, nothing. I just mean the dream that you had. If dreams work in opposites, then the walk that you were on is not going to be fun. 

CINNA: Well, let's not rush to judgment here. My dream doesn't necessarily mean that my walk won't be fun. 

SERVILIA: Well. In any event, there you are on the street when a crowd of people show up. 

CINNA: People? 

SERVILIA: Yeah, a bunch of Romans, and they seem a little upset. 

CINNA: That's a rowdy crowd, those Romans. I assume this is about the death of Caesar? 

SERVILIA: Actually, it seems like they want to ask you questions—lots of them. What's your name? Where are you going? Where do you live? Are you married? That kind of stuff. And they want you to answer all the questions briefly and wisely, they say, to the best of your ability. 

CINNA: They want to know all that? Well, wisely, I say, I am a bachelor. 

SERVILIA: I get it. 

CINNA: Yeah? 

SERVILIA: You're wise to be a bachelor because only a fool will marry? Yeah, they don't think that's funny—in fact, one of them threatens to hit you. 

CINNA: Hit me? 

SERVILIA: Yeah, it's kind of a rough crowd. I told you they were very upset, and now they want to know where you're going. 

CINNA: OK, well, I am going to Caesar's funeral. 

SERVILIA: Right. As a friend, or as an enemy? 

CINNA: As a friend. 

SERVILIA: And where do you live, briefly? 

CINNA: I live by the capitol. 

SERVILIA: And your name, truly? 

CINNA: Truly, my name is Cinna. 

SERVILIA: Yeah, about that. 

CINNA: What? 

SERVILIA: Well, one of them shouts, "Tear him to pieces. He's a conspirator." 

CINNA: Well, I'm not a conspirator. You know I'm not a conspirator. We just went over this. I write poems. I write poetry. Tell them—I am Cinna, the poet. 

SERVILIA: Um, yeah, that doesn't really help. And then another one shouts, "Tear him for his bad poetry. Tear him for his bad poetry." 

CINNA: They've read my poetry? 

SERVILIA: I think. Well, I think they just don't like poetry. Or maybe they're just looking for reasons to tear you to pieces. 

CINNA: Bad poetry, if I wrote bad poetry, would be reason enough. Tell them I am not Cinna the conspirator. 

SERVILIA: I really wish I could do something about that, but they kind of have a mind of their own. They say, "It doesn't matter as long as your name is Cinna." 

CINNA: As long as my name is Cinna? You can't be serious. 

SERVILIA: Then one of them says, "Pluck but his name out of his heart and turn him going." Which, of course, if they pluck anything out of your heart, you wouldn't be going anywhere because you'd—

CINNA: I get it. I get it. I die either way. It's a pretty clever line, actually. 

SERVILIA: Oh, dear. Do we have to go through this again? "Tear him. Tear him. Come; brands, ho! Firebrands. To Brutus', to Cassius', burn all. Decius' house, and some to some to Ligarius'. Away, go." Okay. He's just a character, right? Right?