Mumbled and tripped over lines, kids not facing the audience, and, at least, one student who was convinced that he or she was Broadway material.“Ham...one,” as Becky and I had dubbed the kid was acting like he was King Lear in a professional production rather than farmer brown in a suburban Houston middle school. He boomed his lines even when the scene seemed to call for a more subdued approach.When he asked his wife if she had milked the pigs and slopped the cows in that booming voice, Becky. Her name was Puja, Puja Chopra. With night shattering into morning we had drinks and I was responsible for dropping them home, call it courtesy or the drive to fucking fuck her .I’d rather not judge myself on that.The trick was to take her number and well I thought that since she flies,I could probably lieu her into thinking that I fly regularly and maybe she can get me a discount on tickets.The trick worked I had her number on my cellphone and a hug to end the night, Do you know that feeling. More

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