This American Life

i used to be on different drugs for concerts–now it is a shot of Jameson and pint of Harp. the walk over from brit’s to the orpheum was perfect–it had just begun to snow. the light rail appears to depart from hennepin every 15 minutes on the quarter hour. this seat is perfect.
why are you blocking the exit? repeated three times in my way. tal had ended, i had eaited for the balcony to mostly empty, and exited the balcony stage left–very few people there–stage right was packed. men’s bath available, peed, all well. exit to the skyway wide open, but that seemed dubious. i did not want to go into the skyway. the stage left stairs were vacant and blocked by two ushers, one of whom informed the the stairs were closed. so i turned to my right and with dismay joined the grid lock of people aimed at the far stairs but not moving. elevator doors opened and i and an elevator’s square footage of other people bolted in. the doors closed and woman whose back i was pressed against commented that we’d probably be jammed in the crowd but just on the first foor. sore enough. again, a vacant exit blocked by ushers. that’s when i started my mantra. a man in an usher uniform carrying a walkie talkie motioned me toward the door. it was snowing and
slippery but if i wanted to take my chances… he opened the door and i went outside. see? he said. i said thank you for showing me, and thank you for letting me out. i shuffled away. i quickly became covered in snow. i thought about death and about how it is like birth. birth must seem quite unagreeable to the one being born. uterus ushers blocking all but one exit.