“The buyers,” the man said. “They liked it.”
The air in the Greenpoint warehouse smelled of old coffee grounds and ambition. That’s what Leo told himself as he stepped over a loose cable, clutching a headshot that felt flimsier by the second. The flyer had been cryptic: BACKROOMCASTING BROOKLYN — Non-union, edgy talent wanted. Enter through the alley. 8 PM sharp.
“I… I’m an actor,” Leo said, his voice cracking. “I do improv. I can give you a monologue.”