You walk down the corridor of the musty theater, on 5th Avenue.
Ahead of you, there's a marquee and a scrim with the show's imprimatur in elegant Victorian serif: 'Tis Pity She's a Whore: A Pop Opera.
You sit down in your booked seats, near the orchestra pit. Picture this.
You sit down and leaf through the playbill.
Seconds later, the lights dim.
The orchestra begins.