rehearsal

I’m at rehearsal now, surrounded by happy chaos and clamor. I can hear at least four separate conversations, voices blending and separating excitedly, echoing slightly in this drab downstairs church basement, with pistachio-vanilla gelato tile floors that remind me of Rome and the endless giant plastic ice cream cones on sidewalks. The exit sign glows vaguely and from its center, as if tired and unable to go on. I feel the cushion beneath my ass, the pain in my neck, my jaw, my knee, my soul.