Dancing in the Snow, in the Sky, in the Streets, in Gold

The notice was just a small square in the Village Voice, and would have been easy to miss without the line drawing of an airplane. “Audition for Tim Miller’s next piece,” it said. “You must be willing to jump out of an airplane.”

I idolized Tim Miller. But it was the possibility of leaping into space that ensured I would go. What did he mean, exactly, jump out of an airplane? Would there be a parachute?