Christine, 38, freshly unemployed for the fifth time this decade, has spent most of her life feeling like a ghost—visible only when someone needs an extra body in the back row. Crawling back to the Opera House she quit at 20, rent-free and passion-free, her one remaining marketable talent is standing in a chorus line like someone who gave up on “dreams.” Everyone’s panicking about a haunting; Christine is too depressed to care. If it haunts her, fine—attention is attention.

Drawing instead of making eye contact. If you recognize yourself in anything here, no you don’t. Let us never speak again.