Moses and Kitch are waiting on a contemporary street corner. Or is it an 18th century plantation? Or maybe, they’re in Egypt in the 13th century BCE under the rule of the Pharaoh. The difference doesn't really matter to the two young men, who spend their days dreaming about what they’ll do, who they’ll be, what they’ll eat, and who they’ll see when they get off the block. At least, Moses is. Kitch is more than content just listening to Moses. They pass the time like anyone would: playing games like bang! bang!, fantasizing about collard greens and pinto beans, and awaiting their inevitable exodus to the promised land. Or just waiting. Waiting, aimlessly, under constant surveillance by either the police, the plantation owner, or Pharaoh. Maybe all the above.
Their futile wait comes to an end with the arrival of Mister, an earnest and well-meaning white man who is trying to get to his mother’s house. Hopelessly lost, he asks Moses and Kitch if he can “take a load off” and sit on their street corner. Moses and Kitch aren’t too sure about this request, but when Mister offers up a quid-pro-quo, producing an eerily perfect picnic basket full of cold cuts, string beans, apple pie, ice cream, strawberries, blueberries, blackberries, and goji berries (and much more), they agree to let him stay. Oh, and his name? It's an old family name, nothing to worry about, even when he tells Moses and Kitch that its pronounced master.
Following the frame of Beckett’s existential comedy Waiting for Godot, Moses and Kitch keep posing the question: what are we waiting for? What if the salvation promised by Exodus is just as false as the protection offered by the police? Moses and Kitch aren’t looking for answers; they just want to leave the street corner and pass over to the promised land of food and safety. But they were just given food by a strange white man and the Ossifer, constantly patrolling the streets, claims to be doing so under the guise of safety. Maybe this is the land they’ve been promised after all?
—Fiona Selmi