Too much cat. Too much really fucked up The Van Man. Not pussy, but cat. Cat hair. Cat odor. Cat dandruff. Whatever it was about them was death for Van Man. He had suffered the affects of his run-in with the felines for two days and was done. He hated to feel like he did. Sinuses stopped up and breathing reduced to wheezes. But he had made a few bucks acting and that made it all worth it. It was only a six-hour shoot. Inside a stuffy room of a house overrun by cats. He did his job and got the hell out of there.
Days passed. He was scheduled to work a two-day construction gig and found himself quite busy with acting. He had accepted roles in two plays that would rehearse simultaneously and had a short film shoot on the horizon. Being busy was a treasure he gladly accepted. He should have been happy, but he was not. Something was not quite right. The van ran smooth and money was in the bank. He was not hungry and his tan was golden. He had started his new year off right and was an acting maniac. Yet...all was not complete. And then it hit him. Van Man needed two tickets to a rock concert in the fall. They had gone on sale, but he had no computer to purchase them. They were sold out and he was left sitting in his van with the proverbial dick in his hand.
Van Man knew not to worry. He had been there before. He would hit his resources and scour the city all Summer, if it took that long. September. Dodger Stadium. AC/DC. The vision pulsated in his head as it cleared up his sinuses. The Van Man would score primo seats for the concert and become a hero of Summer. It would be a return to simpler times.