In this frame, the arena is overfilled with characters fighting for a fake tower.
We hustle about waiting for the line that follows our name in the script.
When the light is on us, the face is clear, the wrinkles enhanced, the shade gets heavy, the breath short; all this makes the drama.
She’s there, shaping us with that light, burning our souls in the name of the Art. She writes our role again and again and stares at us scribbling furiously with that impudent purple ink that ticks everybody off.
She’s a damned troublemaker.