Two men and a band walk onto a stage. The men are ashen and sweaty in black suits, skinny ties, and white socks. The band is called the Natural Born Chillers. Everybody is Polish. What follows is a series of monologues between the two men (The Dealer, The Customer) about a nonspecific illegal transaction and sinister, mechanical dance moves set to brooding noise-rock. In the Solitude of Cotton Fields discursively and poetically stretches the brief moment of "Hey, you lookin' for something" into an hour-long experimental theater concert. (On the Boards, 100 W Roy St, 217-9888, 8 pm, $25)