I follow Miller to the lobby, gently slipping through the crowd gathered in the small space, chatting about the show. My hand is slippery and damp on the crumpled program I hold, and I have to shake out my fingers to keep them from cramping. I still feel the sting of my palms from all the clapping I did, but it's worth it. So worth it when Miller guides me, with his fingers wound through my opposite ones, to a side door, painted dull black and barely noticeable. He doesn't even look ...