Up until that evening I'd always maintained that humans are basically rational, that behavior in general is motivated by calculations, whether simple or complex, conscious or misguided or inscrutable, but calculations nevertheless, and that there's some kind of intention in there about reaping, or advantage, about happiness, pleasure, joy maybe; that there's a kind of will humans are pretty much set to follow since they are basically wise, since they seek the best for themselves and sometimes also others. But when I knocked on that door, regarding my own knuckles—which were dried and chapped from the fall weather but warm from the night—next to the handwritten sign saying backstage + crew, I realized I'd been wrong, that it is only after the fact that we attach these calculations to our impulses, to the mad wild dogs that actually run our lives.