I sit at the bar next to D'Arcy, square of jaw, thick lipped and could be the most handsome guy in the world but instead has decided to bloat up with alcohol and bitterness anger and disgust with life, his current girlfriend and work because all work is just that -- work -- and not something interesting and a way of life because all of us have waited too long to make any decisions about our lives and fallen into this trap of doing whatever comes the easiest and right now this stage rigging stuff comes oh so easy especially since we’ve found our niche, our workforce, our camaraderie and content ourselves, if not with a job we can be proud of and gloat about or at least keep our checkbooks above water rather than suffering each other to borrow money constantly from each other, if not for this pathetic kinship bond we have established and managed to find entertaining, we would all, and D'Arcy is merely the mirror of my soul and Tushka’s soul and Koepke’s soul, we would all take gun to our beautiful ever loving beautiful heads, all of us square of jaw, and eat the cylinder shaft of that shiny gun metal and hold the barrel between our collective teeth and like a screw gun pull the trigger and let fly the spiraling spray of metal into the dry wall that is our head.

    D'Arcy is us. We are him.