A smudge of ketchup trailed violently across the tiled floor; the highlight of the evening. They dragged him away by his arms. His feet were the last part of him to be seen, and then his toes. And after his toes, a faint impression of something which had two seconds before been there but now suddenly was not. An excess of air, dispersed and thinner somehow because of a lack of feet (and then a lack of toes).

When the lights went up, I hung around outside and waited for a lift back. Two actors walked past with beers. I have to say, their hairstyles sans-wigs were not a huge improvement. Fuck, said one, gazing narcissistically at a black and white photo of himself in which head was propped on fist, as if head had not the power to support itself.

An actor friend, Paul, wandered by. I heard you laughing, he said, Slightly worrying!

Worrying?

You're too young for such cynacism! How I laughed. I didn't tell him I was born cynical.