monochrome

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The State Theater, Lincoln Center

The first time I went to the State Theater, I saw the Alvin Ailey dance group. I stood in the back row of the fourth circle. I had recently come to New York, and was relatively homeless. I stayed with a friend in Brooklyn for a month and then moved to a "European-style" hotel on the upper west side. "European-style," I would learn, meant that the bathroom was shared, and down the hall.

I was enjoying as much of New York as I could, being as I was on a limited budget. I would walk home from 23rd street to spend more hours outside, and to avoid the hovel in which I was staying. Before moving to New York, I had romantic notions of a cold water flat. After a night brushing roaches off my arm and sleeping with the lights on, I still had a romantic notion of New York, but it was tempered with the reality of my surroundings.

The first months I spent in New York, I saw dance, I saw opera, I saw theater. I could be found either sitting in the last row or standing behind it. I hoped for the nights when a patron would leave after the first act and surrender their ticket for the balance of the performance.

On weekends when I had more time, I would line up in front of various theaters for the rush tickets that would go on sale an hour or two before the performance. A loose camraderie would form on the lines as people chatted or shared their Sunday New York Times, and people would hold your place in line as you went to grab a bite to eat or use a public restroom; but only for a few minutes.

Occasionally, I still find myself waiting for those tickets to Broadway plays. This past winter, I sat in the front row of Avenue Q after winning the lottery for that evening's performance. The actors were right on top of us, singing, sweating, and begging for money. I gave them a dollar.