At the end of the street under the lights; Hugh M./OPEN
The music made him want to dance, the beer in his hand kept him from wanting a cigarette - he'd been working rather hard to keep those to a minimum because doing two plays at once meant he needed to be taking care of his voice - and the lights themselves reminded him of another party what felt like a lifetime ago. Another small town, another set of twinkle lights everywhere, and an entire town gathered to welcome a film crew in to film stories that were intensely personal to most of them - just how personal he hadn't entirely realized at the time. He'd been another man then, or, maybe he'd been the same one he just hadn't known himself as well as he did now.
In the sense that he could have in no way shape or form have fianced a street party at that point in his life, he was another man. He could feel guilty about the fact that somehow he'd ended up with a biological father who was worth millions, but this felt like the right sort of thing to do with that money - let the town drink and let the town dance, and he had always loved a party.
He took a sip of the beer, and glanced for someone that he knew, although there were still too many people in this town that he didn't, and to be honest it felt as if some of them felt almost as if it was Halloween. But he liked that there seemed to be something that was getting people in the spirit of theater and plays. He was all for a small community that would embrace the stage, because that was a community he could at least find a place of belonging in. Like he had at the performances - for at least an hour or two he'd entertained and delighted - and that was nice.
The song switched, and he began to hum, recognizing the tune as an old Fred Astaire number he'd done in high school. The moves were engrained, almost muscle memory, and holding the beer bottle out carefully, he danced a phrase. It was a good night for a party. Truly.