ABSTRACT
I walk into a performance space underneath a theatre. I take off my shoes and get into bed. It is a very pleasurable act, reminiscent of childhood on two counts. It reminds me of being told stories, and of games of makebelieve. I am pretending to be a child getting into bed to be told a story, as are the other adults and children around me. The space is full of these narrow beds; some are in rows, some above one another in bunks. As I shiver beneath a crisp white sheet and a rough brown blanket, a giant stomps about above us, making the ceiling shake. The bulb swings ominously when the giant passes.
