(Untitled)

[silverageflash]

Barry is seating away from the crowds. It's been rough, this past week, trying to deal with his departure, with Sara's feelings about it, with a Bar that he feels still needs him (even though it can do fine without him). He's eating macaroni and cheese for lunch, a sure sign he wants - needs - comfort food

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[jackdriscoll]

Nearby sits a writer chewing thoughtfully on an apple while staring at a notepad. A pencil is also being tapped on the tabletop. In the heat of composition Jack tends to forget that pencil tapping is annoying.

[jackdriscoll]

"A few, yes."

[silverageflash]

Barry nods appreciatively. "That I guess I should know who you are, but don't. I apologize. I'm not up on my Broadway history." So much so that he doesn't quite get how many plays wree produced in the old days that no one recalls.

"I wish I could remember the names of the big actors from that time, but I only know movies stars."

[jackdriscoll]

He shrugs. "I may just...fade into obscurity by your time," he says, slightly nervous. He then proceeds to name a few of the famous actors of the day that the mun is too lazy to look up.

[silverageflash]

Because more Broadway stars don't make it that big in film, Barry only knows a couple. Though he is impressed by that one or two of note.

"And don't worry about fame. As long as you gave it your all, fame isn't important." Though Barry is not one to judge, given his legacy.

[jackdriscoll]

"I'm not worried about fame. I don't do it for the fame, not really."

[silverageflash]

"That's good. Anyone who does something for the fame usually gets nothing.

"Not that being famous is bad. I was known in my world. But you can't let it become important.

"What kinds of plays do you write?" Barry is expecting that this man doesn't write farces. Jack seems too serious.