Part of the rigorous task of developing New American Theatre occurs after midnight, when you find the smallest diviest little bar somewhere in Sag Harbor, take on a game of darts with all the fervor of Spartan warriors, play THE BOSS on the jukebox all night – and then of course get all kinds of friendly with the locals.
The judge and the accused forget the sentencing.
Someone stands up to speak, and the wood of the table
becomes holy. The tavern in that moment is actually made
After dinner we all do studio presentations, where we show each other what we’re working on/ what we’ve done with our lives up until now. I presented a section of WINK, because the best way to convince a group of strangers to be my friend is to have them read a play about a skinned cat on a mission of vengeance, owned by a sexually compulsive housewife who becomes a terrorist. I mean. Right? (Note to self: perhaps rethink strategy.)