When the temperature dips to five degrees (with cutting winds making it even colder) not a lot of people come out to see improv. There were maybe seven people in the audience tonight, with a few more at the bar.

They were an appreciative crowd, though, maybe just happy to be alive, laughing a lot and generally digging the shows. I don't really use this term, but if you wanted, you could call them a "hot crowd" and enjoy the ironic wordplay.

There was one guy, though, front and center in the audience, that did not seem happy. His date laughed and clapped, but he sat there scowling with his arms crossed. He looked like he wanted to fight improv. Every once in a while a joke would sneak past his defenses making him smile despite himself. Each time he would immediately look down, hiding the smile away, and then vigorously rub his face with his hands, as if to wipe the joy away.

I wouldn't notice him in a bigger audience. He wasn't aggressive about it, just vigilantly self-protecting, as if finding something funny was a vulnerability he couldn't afford.

And for a second I thought, he's my opposite. But that's not true. We all have our defense mechanisms. It's just that my shield is funny.

Funny enough, anyway.