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The Story, in part....

Three long-time friends are gathered at the wake of a fourth friend, Will. They are trying to make sense of his death - he apparently jumped in front of a subway train (I’m Late). They are angry with him - especially Em who has recently become his lover (I Will Get Over You).

Meanwhile, Will has fetched up in the Afterlife Bar and Grill. Unaware that he is dead he is met by a perplexing assortment of characters. Some of them seem intent on keeping him from awareness - the Limbo Junkies - and others try their best to wake him up - the Sherpas. Beulah, the bartender, tries to shock Will into realizing he is somewhere else entirely by taking the lid off a cake platter on the bar...and revealing the head of John the Baptist - the rapping head! J.B. has issues (Repent You Fools).

Will, a Dante professor, has his beliefs tested by J.B., Dr. Zoose (a rigid rhyming bureaucrat) and Beulah. Trying to make sense of what he is experiencing in the context of his Catholicism and his understanding of Dante’s writing he sings the poignant Midway.

Back at the wake, the friends become increasingly drunk as they talk about death, life and love. Em is on medication and shouldn’t be drinking at all. She ends up in a coma and moves from the Wake to the After Life Bar & Grill on a M.O.C. (mission of closure) where she is greeted with great enthusiasm (Welcome) The Limbo Junkies seduce her by encouraging her secret passion...karaoke! She sings that famous old 50’s hit (sic) One Fine Guy.

Beulah has her own issues (Should I Go?) which are only made worse by Dr. Zoose’s incessant hectoring. Zoose harbours his own desire to be a beat poet who finally finds freedom from his self-inflicted shackles while singing Too Late. Will is being lured into a Lethean enjoyment of the Bar & Grill (Show Me a Good Time).

You will have to see the show to see who makes it out of the After Life Bar & Grill and what happens to the three mourners. The Finale - I am the Dance, is a swirl of life and death and the Afterlife Bar and Grill all passing before one’s eyes, a Babel-like speaking in tongues of farewell.

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