By morning, he had decided he needed somewhere nobody cared about theater, someplace where the name Chekhov was more likely to be mistaken for a rifle than a playwright.
When the pandemic hit, the world crashed. Lockdowns, quarantines, masks. Stay-at-home orders. It was nuts. It affected everyone's business, their mental health, and, most important, Ted's dick.
By morning, he had decided he needed somewhere nobody cared about theater, someplace where the name Chekhov was more likely to be mistaken for a rifle than a playwright.