The Autograph Hunter

I walked onto stage at The Hammersmith Lyric tonight full of the confidence of spring. And the audience walked alongside like a good friend.They laughed and listened alternately. This was going to be a brilliant performance I could feel it in my bones. Then came the car crash moment: I froze. The words left my head like sparrows from the roof they disappeared into the wide blue sky.

 I entered the twighlight zone. "don't leave me" I thought "not now". I wondered where I was "your on stage lemn" or why I was there "you're doing a play" and who they were "they are the audience" and what had just happened "Lines lemn, you forgot your freaking  lines"

Eventually I blurted out some kind of improvised line and from there the whole performance crumbled into a steaming pile of me. It was excruciating. It's a one man show and there's only one man to blame. Tomorrow night is press night and I am dreading it. i want to run away, get my bags, empty my bank account and dive onto a plane.

In the dressing room a lone brown envelpe sits by the mirror. The bulbs that surround the mirror are harsh. I look at myself then down to the envelpe which I tear open. It fills me with sadness with its stamped addressed envelope, scrawled note. "I am an autograph hunter and would appreciate it if you could sign a photograph of yourself or this blank card". The blank card has fallen onto the floor.

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