Play #7 is just as, um, shocking as I was told.
Sun-drenched raspberries fresh from David Mills garden and melt-in-your-mouth cookies from John Bradshaw are being savored on the tongues of a hungry, lusty crew.
Kegs are being brought in for the afterparty.
A wave of eros and chaos has entered the theater like a sirocco.
This is happening:
I think it's safe to say we're not in Sheboygan, Wisconsin anymore.
You really should be here tonight at 8:00 or 10:30 and let the energy fill you up with a great a WHOOSH !(how's that for a little onomatopoeia?)