There were wings over the city. No one could see them. But people felt the shadows. Uneasy. Something was making Time fly. Time did not like it.
Jack clattered down the metal treads of the spiral to the stage floor. Gloom hung in webs from the darkness that was the grid. Ready lights gleamed from controls swung on droppers on the offstage edges of the legs and exit and no exit signs pooled light from corners and alcoves.
With the confidence of many years Jack hurried across the stage mouth towards the prompt corner. The huge space of the auditorium sucked at the stage. Reaching the corner he reached up and jerked down the stirrup handle. A dull thud heavy and muffled followed by a descending grinding rattle heralded the arrival of the ‘iron’ – the fire curtain. With a thud the leading edge met the stage. The quality of the acoustic changed. No longer a step up into wonder the stage had become closed and secret.
Not an imaginative man Jack headed upstage to the pass door that led through to the dock and the lift to the top storey staff bar. It had been a long difficult day that required a quantity of liquid compensation.
Silence settled on the stage, drifting down from the grid like soot.

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