The Pent House Closet dips into the tentativeness of childhood memory exploiting the sentimental with the distance that only time can provide. In my mind the pile of rocks in the closet of my father's apartment were huge boulders taking up the entirety of the floorspace piling up upon each other into some kind of a mountain rage where in childhood projections many adventured played out. The accompanying monologue explores these memories anecdotal and personal glimpses into the childhood that we all must shed in time.