Saturday. May had drawn to its close. The Sun had returned to its fierce self. And The Van Man was dead broke. That evening was opening night of Othello at Zombie Joe's. Van Man played Iago. The show was fairy-dusted with glitter, glam-rock and a splash of Rocky Horror. LA Theatre at its best.
Van Man had burnt the candle at both ends. Three plays in three months. A never-ending cycle of rehearsal and performance. His creativity lagged at times and his bank account dried. By that final opening, he found himself on the edge of destitution. Pretty fuckin' bad, he thought. The situation was no joke, but he could not help the smile that made its way across his face. Van Man had found the Atlantis of Starving Artists. The blackest deep of sacrifice. Van Man lived in a van he could not afford. He had nothing. And it was all for acting.
The people with their money walked in and out of the coffee shop. They spent freely. Van Man enjoyed each and every drop of his own cup. One last splurge before the unknown of pennilessness. You better believe that coffee tasted better than it ever had before. He knew he had to make it to September for AC/DC. And The Van Man noticed the ink was nearly out on his pen.