Random Memory

When I was twenty-two, I took a playwriting class at HB Studio. The teacher wore sweatpants and brought his catheter to class. He said I reminded him of some redhead actress. Katharine Hepburn or Rita Hayworth. He talked about soap operas as an example of bad dramatic writing. I presented a play called Obituary about three characters stuck in a purgatory place where they analyse their obituaries. An homage to Sartres' No Exit with no future on the stage. It was an existentialist soap opera. During my critique, I'm pretty certain he was peeing in that bag.