Mariko glanced at the crumpled sheet of paper in her hand, trying to cram the last of the unfunny lines in, when she heard a swish of curtain and looked up. Someone she didn't recognise was wandering out. She scrambled in a pocket and fished out a leaflet. Mime girl's act was first, then this guy's dance show, and then it was her, right? Seemed to be that way. So, she was on next. So. This was how it felt like to be waiting at the guillotine. Waiting for the teacher's call of "[url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_Q_T0jehqpQ]Next![/url]" to ring out backstage so she could walk onstage and face the music. Her fingers twitched, folding a corner of the paper again and again. She needed to watch someone so she could stop watching herself for five minutes. Take her own sense of self loathing and apply it unreservedly on someone else so she wouldn't be her own worst critic. There. Take that guy with the tinted contact lenses and the poncy violin. What was his deal? Why did his eyes stay with that half lidded perma-struck dumb expression? She realized, after a full minute of staring at him that she'd done it. She jumped, and turned her attention back to the comedy routine. Concentrate, Mariko, Concentrate!