On Thursday night, I decided to go see an improvisational play about death at one of the local theatres. I'm currently acting in a play on the weekends, so I figured I should check and see what other playhouses were doing. I arrived a little before the starting time of eight o' clock and walked into the waiting room area. For reasons I could never figure out, they had not opened the stage area for the audience to select a seat. After a few minutes of listening to college kids run out things to say in their small talk conversations, I headed back to my car to smoke a bowl.

My body was sore from working a nine-hour shift at work, packing up box after box of violins, violas and cellos. I pulled out my pipe, broke up a bud and toked up a few strong puffs. I put the pipe away and peeked over at the small crowd still mulling about, waiting to be seated. My legs and arms buzzed slightly from the pot, and I decided to take a walk around the block.

The theatre was not located in the most glamorous part of town. This was one of the urban slum districts. I quietly strolled in the dark in my T-shirt and jeans, peering at run down houses and apartment buildings. People live in there, I thought. Every day of their lives.

For a fleeting moment, I considered extending my walk through a few neighborhoods and blowing off the play altogether. I've seen enough freaky death plays and movies in my life, but I shook off that idea and turned the corner to head back to the theatre.

My journey took my quietly stoned body to a block before Central, the main road in town. I saw two shady characters standing in the middle of the street, talking to each other. Another decision had to be made. Should I duck down a side street or continue my journey all the way to Central as planned? It dawned on me that I'm as much a motherfucker in this town as anyone. I'm bigger than your average guy, and the character I play sports a goatee and lamb chops. I'm supposed to have an intimidating persona. What better way to test that theory than walk down dark streets with shady characters.

As I walked toward Central, a prostitute appeared out of nowhere and asked me if I had the time. I told her that I didn't wear a watch even though I knew that's not what she meant. She smiled and went on her way. The guys in the middle of the road broke up their conversation, and one of the them turned and headed to the sidewalk where I was walking. The guy turned out to be a five and a half foot tall Hispanic guy wearing a wife beater. We nodded at each other and nondescriptly asked each other 'Whazzup' as we passed. As I turned onto Central, the other guy was crouching at the corner, muttering to himself. As I passed him, he called out to me an incomprehensible sentence aside from the word 'drugs.' I stopped and asked him what he said. He said the same muttering sentence, and again, the only thing I understood was 'drugs.' I asked "Are you selling some or need some?" He replied "Need some." I said couldn't help him. I had already smoked my bowl.

As I walked further down Central, a young mulatto girl, probably around thirteen, stood at a bus stop. It was strange because the buses didn't run this late. As I walked by, I heard a subtle whistle from a bulky white guy sitting on the bench behind her. These two knew each other. I nodded at the guy as I passed and never looked back at them. I didn't want to think too much about what was going probably going on with that.

I made it back to the crossroads of the theatre and decided to get a coke for the play at the local Mexican fast food joint nearby. I ordered a coke, but they were out. I got a large lemonade instead and thought to myself that all of my first choices have been coming up empty lately. Still, I knew I could make do with whatever was available. For some reason, this makes me believe a recession is coming on in this country.

When I arrived back at the theatre with my large lemonade, all of the crowd was gone, which made me relieved. They were finally letting people in to take their seats. I reached the door and pushed it open two inches. The door was chained shut. In the span of ten minutes, the theatre went from letting no one in to letting no one in. As I stood there with my hand on the locked door, I bellowed out "Jesus Fucking Christ!" I'm still not sure if it was because I couldn't get inside or because I knew vividly what was going on outside.

What's the point of this adventure? I'm still wrestling with that. Maybe nothing. Maybe it's a sign of what's coming. Maybe it's a sign of what's already here. All I really know is how the story ends. I went home and watched the MTV Video Music Awards for the next three and a half hours instead. A man will get his culture, even if it's not his first choice.

Chris Jungle is walking down a street near you.