I’ve been walking for hours, watching as the sky changes the color of the sidewalk. White to grey, grey to orange by now. My shadow slinks over cracks and crags as it pulls me endlessly forward. We juke to dodge dog shit, tumble from curb to street to curb, and we land in an arterial spray of rose petals. The wounded bouquet is nowhere to be found; its assailant long ago fled the scene. I stop and stand and let my shadow dance over the flowerflesh. I raise my head and see other dark vessels suspended in the sea of light.
They found his body in the living room next to a facedown portrait of Jesus. Which I find weird, because I know the guy, and he didn’t even believe in Jesus. Least not the kind that’d judge you from a shitty old picture. What kind of cosmic powers has some historically-inaccurate ink in a frame got over the destination of a man’s soul? I mean Jesus was probably a black man more than the, I dunno, Kid Rock wannabe the West has dutifully elected as its lord and savior. And the thing clearly weren’t painted under the Stars and Stripes, neither. So I’m supposed to believe he had so much respect for his zealot wife that he took the time to avert the watchful gaze of some Chinese rendering of the Divine Hick, mere moments before drawing the blanket of mortality over his own eyelids? That kinda foresight don’t ring truelike. Unless maybe he just kinda, I dunno, knocked the shelf when he were doin’ it. Like kickback. It were a big gun, I guess.
What’s good, thespians? If you answered “my latest audition,” you’re filthy liar. Here’s a truth sweater to try on and pretend to like: we’re coming up on pilot season, and your life is a shameful mess. Your “cute three-bedroom-to-five-person split with no heat” is the purest definition of urban squalor. Your actress girlfriend will dump you the second one of you achieves a modicum of success. Your parents have already sold their non-vital organs so they can go back to school and invent a time machine to avoid paying for your theatre “education.”
But HEY! It’s your dream! I get it. I’ve lulled myself into, probably like, the sixth layer of dream reality (where time passes really slowly and you’re an old Chinese man by the time you realize the entire basis of your existence is a lie). Hence, my qualifications speak for themselves. Here are some handy tips I made up that the industry jerkoffs don’t want you to know about because they write acting advice articles for a living.
My performance in Over Coffee helped me earn the UM Canes Film Festival award for Best Actor in a Leading Role. The film was also nominated for a Best of the Fest award and scored several other wins and nominations in other categories.
Special thanks to my immensely talented costar, Sarah Schenkkan, and writer/director Sam Bangs.