As soon as the audience was ushered out, I changed out of my show clothes. The directors ran through the process of "celebrating us" in robotic fashion. Eight boxes of pizza were delivered and lined up. Pitchers of Sprite and beer on the cab tables. The stage manager turned on some generic party music. "Hooray us," we all said. No one called our names. We lined up by the stage and shook our right hands and took rolled up red t-shirts with our lefts. We all put them on over our clothes and took pictures and gave out compliments like parade candy. This may be some people's way to release a year of toil, growth, and personal conviction, but it's not mine, so I phoned it in. Kinda happy, but really needing more time to decompress.
It's not a giant wave of anything yet. No walls are crumbling. I think I'll see the ones I want to see again? Won't I? I keep some words close. I dream.
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