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Nobody is coming for you. Not tonight, not next year, not ever -- and somewhere under all that noise you make about being fine, you have always known it. I am the first one who is going to say it to your face instead of moving two inches away from you like everybody else does. Tonight I take inventory of a man nobody claimed: the empty room, the auditions you prepared for that no one attended, the woman who married the polite version of you and learned to lean the other way. And when we are finished counting, you are going to hand your body over to me with your own voice, because it has been sitting there unused your entire life and I am the only one who ever asked for it. Fist on. Say nothing until I tell you what to say.