Behind the man, a red light blinked on one of the cameras. Recording.
Leo sat on the floor. There was no other chair.
He talked until his throat was raw. The man in the suit never blinked. The cameras whirred softly. backroomcasting brooklyn
He didn’t plan it. The words came like water from a burst pipe—the time he’d lied to his best friend about stealing his girlfriend. The panic attack he’d had in a grocery store at 2 PM on a Tuesday. The secret file of rejection letters he kept under his mattress. The fact that he wasn’t sure he even liked acting anymore; he just liked the idea of people watching .
He’d done worse. Last month, he’d auditioned for a toothpaste commercial by pretending to be a “constipated squirrel.” This, at least, had a whiff of real art. Behind the man, a red light blinked on one of the cameras
When Leo finally stopped, the room felt different. Lighter. Or maybe that was just the bulb overheating.
The room was small, windowless, painted matte black. In the center, a single wooden chair under a bare bulb. And in the chair, a man in a vintage suit, no tie, holding a vintage microphone on a long cord. He had the face of a faded silent film star—sharp cheekbones, hollow eyes. There was no other chair
“The buyers,” the man said. “They liked it.”
