We’re standing in front of a diner that looks like it’s straight out of Men in Black.

I shoot him a suspicious look. “Where the hell, exactly, are you working?”

“QCZ theater,” he says.

“Stop it. No, you’re not.”

“I am. Part-time. I’m working there three days a week, and three days a week at a music production company. Both are internships, but I get paid a bit.” He shrugs. “I had my first session at the production company this morning. I just came from the studio.”

I drop my head in my hands. “QCZ is where I’m heading, Zarar. Fuck.”

He’s quiet until I look up again. “Why do you say that like it’s a bad thing?”

Ugh, because you don’t actually want to spend this much time with me. I blow out an exaggerated breath and shake my head.

“It’s not a bad thing. I’m a hoot.” I loop my arm into his.

Zarar’s mouth rises again.

“I’m planning to hit up this theater multiple times these next four days to catch as many shows as I can before heading back to the West Coast. Starting tonight.”

“I’m working tickets.”

“I need to study the schedule.”

He gestures forward. “Shall we?”

I’m staring at the QCZ schedule posted next to the ticket window, but I’m having trouble taking it in, because what the hell were the chances that I’d run into Zarar on the subway and we’d be headed to the same exact destination?

He’s zipping around the theater, talking to the manager and learning how things work and what his responsibilities will be. He’s going to be taking the Improv 101 course they offer, for free, which is a pretty nice deal. I’ve been loitering here in the lobby for about fifteen minutes now. There’s a 7 p.m. show tonight, like I thought. I’m sure Z can slip me in for free, which will be nice. A girl isn’t working right now and she’s broke.

There’s a clatter as Zarar reappears behind the ticket booth. “You do comedy!” he says in greeting.

I bring up a close-lipped I don’t like that you know that smile. “Yep. I do.”

“The manager was just telling me that they do open mic night for stand-ups on Saturdays. I should sign you up for a ten-minute slot tomorrow so you can give it another go.”

I shake my head. “I don’t have my shit together yet.”

He leans forward on the ticket counter. “What do you mean by that?”

“I haven’t figured out where I went wrong with my set yet.”

“How do you plan on figuring it out?”

I throw my hands up and let them fall to my sides. “I don’t know, Zarar. I’m trying to figure that out.”