Pun sets down his suitcase, surveying the room. “Tonight is going to be different,” he thinks, as his eyes fall on another actual human being.
“It feels strange, having me here?” she asks.
“You’re the one who should feel strange. You’re not gonna’ like it.”
“I think you’re wrong.”
“That person who’s earned the nickname, that comic, up there on the stage, that’s not what you get once the stage lights have gone out, you know. I’m not entertaining.”
“I know…Winifred,” she says.
“Thing is,” he starts nervously, “once alone, I often…I often…” Her opening arms accept his sobbing form.