The Van Man was surprised by the critics. They seemed to enjoy his portrayal. It had been a tough role and he was not sure if he could be as good as he wanted to be. But that did not seem to matter to the audience. Well, fine. Something to be proud of. But Van Man knew that was bullshit. He was still searching. The search, as it had always been, was for that true answer. He began to think it was impossible. How could he find what he needed when it was muddled and unclear? Van Man had a theory as to why his outlook seemed so opaque. He had been drinking again. The effects of alcohol on his brain were always severe, but the exuberance of youth carried him onward. Thirty-four was a different animal.
Van Man laid in his van and the sweat rolled down his brow. It was June and there was little shade. The Van Man needed something more. But there was nothing that day except for heat and hunger. And a good review.