Martha Watson Allpress’ Lady Dealer is fast, frenetic and utterly charming. Written in verse, the patter of protagonist Charly ticks along like a metronome; with words alone she builds up a claustrophobic world of dirty laundry, instant coffee and old pizza boxes. Charly is a loveable rogue, a weed dealer who spends every day doing the same thing and, on the surface, loving it.

There’s a powerful sense of lockdown déjà vu to the show as she moves from bedroom to kitchen, back to bedroom, and a brief stint out to McDonald’s on a failed quest for some hash browns. After a while, you forget that the speech is in rhyming verse as the cadence flows naturally and none of the words feel forced. It’s certainly a meta brew, with Charly addressing the audience several times, asking for a moment alone on the toilet and repeatedly shouting ‘don’t judge me’ as she steps on an old pizza box.

And there are plenty of laughs. Tories, posh boys called Hugo, and Morrissey wannabes all take a beating from Charly’s witty repertoire in a series of commentaries that are simultaneously sharp and endearing. One-liners are delivered with a glint in her eye. We are on her side wholeheartedly as she dances to the Beastie Boys, psyches herself up for another drug deal, and brandishes her two phones like a cowboy in the Wild West. It’s as if we’ve been given a sneak peek into her private world, and we’re welcomed into a web of in-jokes and insights told with a wink. ‘You know what it’s like, eh?’ Charly’s narrative seems to say.

But all is not as it seems. Behind the bravado, we catch a glimpse of Charly’s loneliness. A break-up has left her alone and vulnerable, and when a power cut takes away her means to do business for a day, the cracks start to show. ‘I’m fine’, is repeated more manically, with urgency and in a way that says our protagonist is really not OK. Her puffed-out peacock chest and bold humour give way to raw moments of pure abandonment and vulnerability. You can feel isolation seep into the room. It’s a stellar performance from Alexa Davies, who sucks you right into Charly’s tiny, spliff-filled world and holds you there for an hour until you emerge, blinking into light with her monologue still echoing in your brain. 

Lady Dealer, Summerhall, until 27 August, 4pm.