One o'clock with a cup and The Van Man was alright. A recent visit with the Doctor had brought the good medicine his way. The Cough had subsided, nearly gone. Paychecks for a couple of gigs had arrived. He suddenly had a bit of scratch. The Beckett show had entered tech week and Van Man needed a day off. He got one. A Sunday. The perfect day to reflect.
It was time to push. Van Man had not done enough of it. Each day passed and he was one more older. No one was going to give him what he wanted. He knew that. But knowing something and doing something about it were two different animals. He had been sleeping and it was time to wake up.
Van Man was aware of that certain cretin living inside him, buried deep in the abyss of his soul. The horrible thing sucked him dry from within. It told him no. It whispered confusion. And it manufactured sickly sweet distractions. The Cretin did not play a fair game.
A free Sunday was just what the doctor ordered. Clear sky and seventy-two degrees. Joyful children played games somewhere near. Van Man could smell a crackling barbeque in the distance. He was awake. He was ready to push. A party was being held that night and The Van Man was going. It was a needed distraction. It seemed the Cretin had him by the balls.