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
of wine.

[Rumi]

I have the best roommates in the world.

Walking to Colony Hall in the evening snow: All the picnic lunch baskets on their way to our studios…

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.)