D. Pintar

In telling the story of how I came to be cast as Atticus Finch, I think back to the young actor I used to be. I imagine the older me and the younger me sitting on a bench in Central Park. I imagine our conversation. The first season of Alive & Well Enough wraps up with “The End,” a song I recorded years ago with my Circle Rep friend and fellow songwriter Jonathan Hogan about looking back on a life spent telling stories.

Every object has a ghost. There is a small yellow backpack - half unzipped, mouth yawning to the pavement, contents strewn around it (a banana, an exercise book, a pair of scissors) - abandoned on a suburban footpath. Ten feet away, the rubber stamp of tyres, resisting clamped brakes, mount the curb and cut across the path. The tracks come to an end at a crippled stop sign. The street, a tree-lined suburban road dappled in late-afternoon sunlight, is calm. But anyone walking past can feel the ghosts: the prickle on the back of their necks that tells them something happened here.