This is back at the club where it all started. The funny man has not been here in a long time and yet it is unchanged, except that someone has cleaved the big table that used to sit in the middle of dressing room and collect beer bottles in two and the two halves have been crudely fastened back together with two-by-fours nailed like railroad tracks across the top. He thinks maybe he should be a dude and spring for a new table. He does not know any of the performers, but it’s clear they are in awe of him. Sure, he’s had his setbacks, but they would kill for the opportunity to rise high enough to fail so spectacularly as him. No one notices if you fall out a first-story window. A woman from the entertainment magazine that dabbles in politics has been following him around for three straight days and she stands in the corner of the backstage room and winks at him when he looks at her. Since she has begun her surveillance, the funny man has been taking pains to appear grounded, grateful for the opportunity to perform again, just as his agent and manager have suggested.
