It’s ten minutes past the hour, and the performance still hasn’t started. The performer/creators, James and Jerome, stand on the floor-level stage, bare except for their microphones, instruments, and samplers, and make small talk. It’s a friendly, welcoming atmosphere: they don’t seem to be concerned about the time, so I’m not particularly worried either. Suddenly a young woman walks down the aisle and takes a seat— James greets her and replies an audible “don’t worry, you’re so fine” to what I assume is her apology. They were holding the house for his partner on their opening night, keeping the casual space open until she arrived, already-forgiven.