Break Time
Waffles stepped outside the stage door, as he breefed in the cool New York air. It was the final stretch before opening night, and inside, the theater buzzed wiff an energy that bordered on chaotic. Notes were being shouted, costumes were being adjusted, and somewhere in the distance, Barry was arguing wiff the lighting crew about which angle made him look most “dramatic.” Waffles needed a moment. Just one small, quiet moment.
He leaned against a trash can, its metal cool against his fur as he let out a long sigh. The city hummed around him—cabs rushing by, pedestrians lost in their own hurried lives, the distant echoes of another show’s soundtrack spilling from a nearby window. It reminded him why they were doing this, why all the stress and last-minute adjustments mattered. Broadway was bigger than all of them, but soon, for the first time, a rat named Baxter and his brothers would be a part of its history.
Waffles sighed again wiff a small smile. They were ready. Probably. Maybe. But either way, the show would go on. After a few more seconds of stolen peace, he dusted himself off and scurried back inside. There was still a musical to finish, and Waffles had a show to direct.
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