The Van Man's hearing felt better as he sipped his morning coffee. His hearing felt the best it had since before the gunshots. He was in the midst of a stretch of three consecutive plays in The Valley. The first production had been a two-week engagement at a college. He portrayed a stoner cheese sculptor stricken with grief and guilt. The guilt was the easy part. Van Man had started tech rehearsals for the second, a Western. It was staged at a converted jewelry store on Burbank Boulevard. For the show, the Director insisted on the use of high-caliber blanks which filled the small store with deafening explosions ten times per night. He had a ringing in his ear for three days from the first night. After that, Van Man decided to use ear plugs on stage. So much for realism, he thought.
Van Man enjoyed his coffee and thought about the day ahead. He had to jump under the hood of his van and replace the master cylinder. Sounded harder than it was. He then had to prepare an audition for another play. Othello. Van Man was no Shakespeare freak, but if he had a dream role written by The Bard, it was Iago. The audition notice described Iago as a "fashion designer, flamboyant, but real, think David Bowie/Velvet Goldmine/70s Glam Rock/Eurotrash". LA theatre was alive and well.
Van Man finished up his coffee. He was appreciative. He had his acting gigs. He had his van. The Sun was out and the skirts were short. His hearing was better. The Van Man sipped and waited for something else.