"What the fuck just happened?", I blurted out as the curtains closed, feeling my chest heave and my cheeks warm with fresh tears. One moment I'm sitting there, spacing out slightly and contemplating identity and what we let define ourselves. The next I'm thinking of Walt Whitman - maybe I should give him a read? "Interesting direction, but I'd probably have done _that_ differently." "Is he British, trying to do an American accent?" "Is she an actress acting or is she portraying a character who is acting?" *laughs out loud* "Is this humour American or universal? Is this funny because it's recognisable or because it's clever?" "Most people are laughing but I'm contemplating the character" ...And then all of a sudden everything explodes and I'm not sure if it's the actors, the stage or the piece, but I'm standing up, clapping helplessly in tears. Crying in the gents. Crying on the tube. "Maybe that person who just pushed past me in the escalator will be the one who saves my life one day." "What do we bring with us in our bodies? What do we give when we give them away?" Thank you @maisie_williams and Zach Wyatt for torching my professional glasses and touching my soul. You struck a chord and I'm still recovering from its vibrations. (at Hampstead Theatre) https://www.instagram.com/p/BpmxLRuhW10/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=i1bq6lxldgzu