Don't ask me about my business, Kay

Today I went to work in my contractually dictated uniform: black trousers and sweater. And since I was going to another job first, I had my non-contractually dictated black heels, black scarf, black bag, green leather trenchcoat, thermos and sunglasses. As I ducked in down the alley to the stage door, the homeless man on the corner hollered, "You work for the mob, sweetie?"

You know how dangerous and mysterious those backstage folks can be.