The Dark at the Top of the Stairs
Sarah and I took a trip to the Far Country tonight; i.e., the Lower East Side. It's funny how you know right away which neighborhoods are not for you.
Dinner at The Orchard was spectacular. The Dark at the Top of the Stairs (by William Inge, playing off-off-Broadway at the Connelly Theatre) was a bit of a letdown—disjointed and tentative—save the ever-amazing Michele Pawk, who was all shoulders and slouch and sharp, bruised edges. Give the woman a corset and a fried chicken drumstick and what you get is magic.