There was poetry found wedged beneath the dusty floorboards of the hall in which we gathered. The theatre, on the other hand, was something of a different nature. I was lured by the soft, velvety darkness of the auditorium and the hidden recesses built around the big stage. The dressing room promised a home for a moment. I became entranced by the rituals of donning costumes and the makeup of mothers, shaking limbs about and huddling in for cliche motivation speeches, amateur actors obsessing over their lame lines, as if there were nothing else of meaning. The only thing that mattered was this musical. We must have had some nerves to deal with when the bright lights slapped our faces and we stepped onto the exposed stage. There was no stepping back, adrenaline had a grip on us and we did the things that we had rehearsed. We had made a song and dance and the bright lights confirmed the fact. We pulled together some faces, also known as a crowd. In the end they put their hands together and time was once suspended. Thirty years have gone by since. The seats are still there but I can't make out a shadow in the crowd.