The meteorite shook the ground as it landed, igniting a chorus of barking dogs. Neighbours reported a blast of flames, it felt as though the house trembled. Voices, soft and low, linger in corners; each a note in the composition of a home. The scrape of a chair, the distant hum of family dinners, laughter, a symphony of footfall on stairs. The kitchen tiles hold us while we dance, the house sings, outside the world fades. Gathered around a doll’s house, Fringe First winning storyteller Casey Jay Andrews weaves a delicate fable about the capacity a place has for holding a feeling. An intimate story about sanctuary, belonging and loneliness.
Day of week | Matinee | Evening |
---|---|---|
Monday | - | - |
Tuesday | - | - |
Wednesday | - | - |
Thursday | - | 7:00 PM |
Friday | - | 7:30 PM |
Saturday | 2:00 PM | 7:30 PM |
Sunday | 1:30 PM | - |
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