audience

I went to the theatre. The square stage was set low in the centre of the space, with four banks of raked seating flanking each side, rising high above the stage so that the audience could look down at the actors. My friend and I arrived late; the show had already begun. Three sides of the seating were reasonably full, with the fourth side empty. We crept along the space between the front row and the railing of the empty side, aiming to sit over in one of the more crowded banks. The railing, part of the wall that enclosed the bank of seats, and the entire wall below gave way, tipping over, falling like a tree toward the performers below. I was hanging onto the railing, falling with it, so I gathered all my strength and heaved the wall - as though it were a giant piece of cardboard in the wind - to fly over the actors and land beyond them on the far side of the stage. Danger was averted and the show went on. I climbed back up and found a seat on the opposite side of the stage to where my friend was now sitting. In fact, I discovered that I was sitting alone in the light box and, from there, I had a particularly good view of the audience. I watched my friend, and her behaviour - she heckled and laughed at the actors, stealing focus - made me pleased that I was not sitting with her after all. Rather than watching the show, I continued to watch the audience. I could see a person, renowned for brief love affairs, sitting with a very young woman. I hoped that this was not the latest fling as she was far too young. I then saw a dear friend of mine and caught her eye. She joined me in the light box and we cooked a meal together, separating fine slices of meat and laying them in a pan.