I enter the dream on Broadway. Somehow, the little theater group I used to be in as a teen has made it to the Great White Way. My mom, my brother and I are sitting in this huge theater, watching some sort of variety show that isn't very good. I'm sitting with a bunch of gossip journalists it seems, and after every act, these cute little old ladies with steno pads get to ask each theater troupe questions, I guess to help them with their voting for some kind of award. I thrill in all the vicious gossip the ladies are giving each other at first, but tire after awhile, remembering that stuff like this is one of the reasons why I got out of the business in the first place. New York is no different than California in that respect.

I decide to ask a question of a group of dancers, and all the journalists are impressed with my poise and politeness. They all tell me that I'm an up and comer, and to send them some of my clippings and they'll make sure to read them. One of the journalists tries to sell me a sex manual she's written, but I tell her I'm not really into gals, I like guys. I'm immediately frozen out of the group. I guess I'm no longer that promising.

So, I move to a different section of the theater, and everyone's looking at me, trying to figure out what I'm doing sitting so near Liza Minelli. "Hollywood, he has to be Hollywood, look at the way he's dressed," I keep hearing people mutter amongst themselves. A young woman walks up to me, and whispers in my ear, "Just tell me what you need, I'll make sure you get it," while tickling my love handles. This is enough for me, I'm disgusted by the entire entertainment industry on both coasts, so I exit the theater.

And I'm in New York City, in full daylight, and the city is beautiful. The stink of the city is intoxicating and I walk up and down the streets, people watching and feeling extremely joyous.

Next thing I know, I'm in Central Park and it begins to rain. I notice millions of mentally ill people, all dressed in black, most in trenchcoats, all coming toward me. I'm a little apprehensive at first, but since I'm surrounded, I resolve to make the best of the situation. I have a kind word for everyone, as it seems I know them all somehow. Some of them stink, others are insane, and they all hug me, soiling my clothes; but I don't care, the hugs I'm receiving are like no other hugs I've ever received. Nothing's being held back. It's a little overwhelming. I see someone, in red, that I think I recognize as a co-worker I once had.

"Peter!", I yell, thinking that bushy, glorious head of jet black hair belongs to my friend. He turns around, and it's not Peter it's another crazy guy. He asks me, "Why are you being so nice to us? We're insane, we're homeless and filthy, and you're thousands of miles from home yourself. Why?"

"I don't know," I reply, "I think it's because I'm a little jealous of all of you."

"Why is that?"

"Because you don't have to wear any masks. Any emotion you want to feel, no matter what it is, you can feel it fully. Society doesn't expect anything more from you."

Everyone vanishes, except for "Peter", who kisses me.

Then I wake up, tears streaming down my face.