After the premiere of my play “Hoppla, wir sterben!” I had a discussion with one of the actresses about competition among women and competition among men.
Her mother was present as well.
The conclusion was rather devastating: “Men have no clue.”
Another actor put a joint in my mouth but I cannot inhale.
And my editor at Kiepenheuer (my German publisher) said: “You are not very good at letting yourself go, aren’t you?”
“Writing is letting myself go, to a certain degree at least,” I answered.
Shortly after that the intendant said: “Write a play for me about the Apocalypse.”
Around 1:30 I went back to my hotel.