Jack Allison was curled up on the floor of the production van, rocking back and forth and hyperventilating, thinking of a better life than this.

“It’s all wrong man, this is all wrong. I can’t do this man.” He croaked on the verge of tears. The van door was open and daylight filtered through the leaves of the giant oak onto Jack’s puddled form.

“Jack..” Came a patient voice and he knew his producer Van had knelt beside him, half in the open van door and half out. “Look at me.” Jack felt his face in gentle hands move until his watery eyes met Van's. “You can. And you have to, we don’t have very many fans anymore. We have to land this, the exposure could be immeasurable. ” “It just feels wrong man. This isn’t my life, this can’t be my life. Shooting these fucking videos for only thousands of views? Thousands of dollars? I barely make rent. My body is falling apart man, I—” Jack broke out into heavy sobs, and through the glassy haze of his tears saw Van stand up and throw his hands exasperatedly, and soon Dr. Fuzz—part production assistant, part traveling therapist—was at his side. “Shhh, shhh, shhh. It’s okay Jack.”

“It’s not okay Fuzz, this is not my life. Doing this shit? It’s not my life, it can’t be it—“

“No, Jack. Those are called intrusive thoughts, remember? Remember what we developed to handle intrusive thoughts?”

“Bacon-wrap the thoughts?”

“Bacon-wrap the thoughts, that’s right. Gobble it up.” At Fuzz’s prompting Jack chomped down on an imaginary food. Satisfied, Dr. Fuzz clapped Jack on the shoulder. “Now let’s get out there and do a show.“ In a few moments, Jack found himself on his feet and trekking across the church’s parking lot with the crew. Once inside he excused himself to the bathroom and cleaned up as much as he could. When he had finished with that he put on the suit hanging for him off one of the stalls and departed. He reconvened with his crew in the lobby and as they began the short walk into the main area of the church, he was stopped by a man in a suit who was lurking by the entrance. His eyes were bloodshot and rimmed with red.

“I just want to thank yall for doing this.” The man sniffed. “Hayden is...was, such a huge fan of yall's. I know he’s just looking down now. Happy as a clam.” Jack, gave the man an assured smile, shook his hand, and gave him a comforting clap on the shoulder. “Sure thing.” He said.

By the time Jack joined up with the rest of the crew, ring lights and cameras were already set into place, around the attendees who were already there. Jack eyed the two caskets, center-lit, and took his place next to them ready for his cue. When it came and they started rolling, he instantly snapped into his persona. “What’s going on mother f-ers welcome to Meal Broz, I’m Jack Allison and you already know what the F- it is! We’re here in Houston at the funeral of one of our biggest kid fans, Hayden Carter. Awww—!” Jack pushed out his lower lip and used his fists to mime rubbing tears away— “Press F to pay your respects!” After he said this, the production had to halt for several minutes. As one of the funeral attendees,—Hayden's mother apparently— had to be removed from set for sobbing too loudly. But when they came back up Jack was still in his element. “So you know we had to send ya boy off in style. Behind me is a child casket fulla’ meats!" Jack gestured to the first casket. "We’re gonna cook up every one of those bad mama jamas and stuff em into Hayden’s open casket before burial.” Jack gestured to the second casket. “Talk about meat-ing your maker!”

“Cut!” Called Van and Jack dropped character. “That was perfect Jack! Okay let’s get a 360 on the child meat casket.” Jack watched the production team go to work all the while thinking, of a better life than this.