show don't tell

auditions

the saddest group of people you will ever see
desperation pouring out of them

The Scene:
like a cramped, stained on-the-ocean cabin room--immigrants praying for a better life
"not all of us will make it to the promiseland, I fear."
large round girls sit on public floors, rollers still in hair--
lugging entire suitcases filled with makeup and monologues
angry pointy-faced gays--armed only with an arsenal of dirty looks and self-hate
the elderly. I'm not kidding on this one. the elderly--putting on their lashes, clearing their throats, actually doing sit-ups before the eyes of babes
water bottle after water bottle after water bottle
and me
the self-consumption, the insecurity, the NEED all played out under the harsh glow of sterile hallogen lights
fascinating if it weren't so sad
"You do this every day?" I think to myself before, "You left the house like that?"
their pounding of the pavement is quiet and inconsequential
you will never make it
and neither will you
you might as well had just slept in

this room will be your carnegie hall
that corner will be your only stage
the end of your road has come, so soon

Why are you here?
Why are you here?
Why are you here?
Why are you here?

And then I look away from the mirror.
I roll my neck atop my shoulders, lightly cough into my small right hand and attempt to clear my mind of the negativity that controls it.
I proceed...


"Number OneHundredandFifteen, you're next."