Maxzyne and the Old Horse Theatre

“We really need that Plan B now, Rico.” There is no sound except the quick trotting of Caesar’s hooves beneath them. “Rico? Hellllloooo,” she shouts over her shoulder. “We need to figure out our next move.” Finally, she turns, jabbing him with her elbow.

“Sí, sí. I hear you,” he responds indignantly.

“Well, you didn’t say anything!”

“Who needs to talk with you around, High-rise?”

Annoyed, she twists in the saddle. “Hey, I’m your teammate, remember? That means you should respect me.”

“And you should respect this view for a minute.” Rico throws his arm up and around, as if offering her the rising moon.

“Look at the moon on the lake.” He gulps the cold air, exhaling with a wistful sigh. “It looks like la pampa in my country. It goes on forever.” His voice cracks a little.

“It is pretty,” she agrees. “I’ve never seen your what’cha call it: la pampa. But I guess Illinois has prairies too. Whenever I see a full moon on the lake from our condo window, it makes me want to catch it.”

“I didn’t know your building was that tall, High-rise,” he teases.

Maxzyne bristles at the laughter in his voice. “It’s not, silly. I didn’t mean really catch it. I meant take a picture. Draw or paint it. Save it. That’s what artists do, y’know.”