Stephanie has set up a fake audition to get to know and meet Phil, an
Raymond’s Zoroastrian, but I don’t really practice anything now. But when I was a little, at Christmas, my parents would scrape together whatever was left after they paid Con Ed and bought us sox and sweaters, and we’d go to New York and wait in line, in the cold, for half price tickets. We did this once a year. My fingers would still be cold when we sat in the theatre—but when the lights went up, it was like anything was possible. It was fun and exciting and playful and more joyful than life. And I just want meeting people to be—fun. And joyful. Like when did we stop having fun? And why?
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