Act Two – Scene Four

(Lights rise on a dimly lit café corner, where Fish stands alone, bathed in a single golden spotlight. His tiny paws clutch his worn parchment map, its edges curled from years of careful study. The café is quiet, save for the faint sound of distant city life—a soft saxophone playing in the street, the chatter of late-night diners, the clinking of espresso cups.)

(Fish takes a deep breath. This is his moment.)

“The Cheese Ballad – Part II” 

(He begins soft, wistful, longing.)

FISH:
Oh, I dream ob a city wiff cheese on each street,
A place where da dairy’s deliciously sweet.
From cafes to bistros, each bite tells a tale,
A journey ob brie, ob gouda, ob taleggio pale…

(He unrolls the map with reverence, his eyes gleaming like a cartographer discovering new lands.)

Here in West Billage, where romance runs free,
I bited a brie that was made just for me.
So creamy, so breezy, it melted like dreams,
A whisper ob dawn wiff buttery beams…

(The music shifts—adventurous, thrilling. Fish spins, his tail flicking as he traces his map like an explorer ready to set sail.)

And Liddle Italy, oh, da magic runs deep!
Wiff mozzarella so botty, it makes me weep.
A pile ob Parmigiano, crumbly, so grand,
Grated on pasta by an old baker’s hand.

(He twirls dramatically, pointing eastward with conviction.)

Da Lower East Side, where da bold cheeseblends glow,
Bagels and cream cheese put on quite a show!
But wander beyond, where da hipsters all line,
You’ll find a smoked gouda wiff depff so debine…

(The orchestra swells—strings and accordions blending in a melody of nostalgia and passion. Fish clutches his map, the weight of history and flavor almost too much to bear.)

Oh, but Brooklyn, dear Brooklyn, you baffle my mind,
A cheddar so sharp, it could cut wiff its rind!
A blue cheese so tangy, so big and so bold,
It sings wiff da bridges, a blue-and-white gold…

(The music hushes, reverent, almost sacred. Fish’s voice drops to a hushed whisper.)

And Queens, oh, Queens, da treasures you keep,
Halloumi wiff grill marks, a bite so deep.
A queso so precious from Jackson Heights’ streets,
A taste ob da world in a city ob beats…

(The final chorus swells, Fish rising onto his tiny hind legs, holding his map like a sacred text. The wind shifts—as if the very city itself is listening.)

So here is my map, my dream and my guide,
A city ob cheeses, wiff boroughs so wide.
Each block is a blessing, each nibble a rhyme,
In a grand cheese-ballet ob history and time!

(*He stands, breathless, victorious. The café falls silent. Then—suddenly—**)

THE ENTIRE CAFÉ ERUPTS INTO APPLAUSE!

(Diners rise from their seats, chefs wipe away tears, a tiny rat barista raises an espresso in Fish’s honor. Somewhere, a cheese wheel is dramatically rolled onto the stage. A spotlight gleams off its golden rind. This is a moment.)

(Fish takes it all in, his tiny chest rising and falling. His life’s greatest passion has just been given a standing ovation. And yet… something is missing. His brothers. Baxter. The theater. The adventure…)

(As the crowd cheers, toasts, and revels, Fish stares down at his map. The glow of the Marquee B still lingers faintly in his mind.)

Fish (softly, to himself): “Maybe da real treasure isn’t just da cheese… it’s who you share it wiff.”

(Lights fade. The city hums around him. Fish rushes out stage left…)