All the more reason to put on a good show.
The paints and pots at the back of this meager Theater art borne for a medical concern, with how crusted and cracked and broken that stink of old muck and fading colors. Roland pouts on his side of the stage, crossing his arms tightly; sulking, like an ill-fated chllde.
"How must I go on if I am not properly painted for my Role?" whines he, shaking his naked foot in anxiety within his crossed knee. The Theater is not neatly packed, a little o'er two dozen folks crammed into the wooden seating, but, 'tis his reputation as an actor with which dost Roland now woefully reside.
๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐ .
















