HowlRound: Zak Berkman’s invitation to apply for New Play Frontiers came right when I craved more reality. I had just spent a weekend in Destin, Florida, interviewing an 86-year-old man whose life was saved as a fluke when he fled 1939 Poland as the ward of a stranger. That same fall, Superstorm Sandy knocked New York City to its knees. I couldn’t afford to cancel my intensive playwriting workshop, so I walked, and twice drove our 1994 Oldsmobile, through a deserted city, hauling coffee and boiled eggs. The city was silent, damp, and dark. A couple of bodegas sold nonperishables by candlelight and cash. I wanted to feed displaced people and bring them blankets (and I did some of that), but also to exist in that raw state in which everyone lets each other in.
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