You’re working in it. The show will close. The theatre at the end of the world is not simply that shiny outpost of Branson, Missouri, that operates down in the West 40s of New York City. It’s between your ears. You have been cast — you have accepted your roles — and the play runs on. You can alter the play in which you have been cast, or you can ride it to the end. There is no truth in this theatre.