The protagonist from last week’s Six Sentence Story showed up again. What could I say? Couldn’t shut the door in his face, now could I?
Too much Jack the night before left my reflexes about 20 miles west of the Hudson River. I reached for the screaming, Sonic Alert Sonic Bomb to hit snooze for the 11th time but instead knocked it to the hardwood; true to the clock’s name, the sound of it hitting the floor echoed like a jetliner crashing the Grand Canyon.
Johnny’s stays open until 4:00 am; I left at 5. Over the last few years, I’d gotten to know a couple of the bartenders and familiarity, if not friendship, bent the rules on more than once occasion. I’d been stoked from the audition, reeling from the high of being “on”, of having the out of body experience of walking through someone else’s reality so completely, totally lost in the script, it took hearing “Cut!” to bring my focus back to present reality and that, is some cool shit.
Big contrast to when my agent called me 2 weeks earlier to say she’d gotten me an audition for a small part in a movie and I broke out in a cold sweat, my stomach doing a swan dive off a cliff I don’t recall climbing and thinking.. this is it, this is real, this isn’t just me in my head anymore believing I can act, this is…