I’m a thirty-year old actor living in New York City, my home for eight years. I’m part of the SAG-AFTRA union, which offers members health and pension benefits, but like most other artists in the city, I have to work a side job to pay rent.

Mine is dancing at an underground club about two nights a week, which gives me enough time the rest of the week to audition and work on my own creative projects.

One night at the club several months ago, while I was talking to a client at the bar, a glass slipped from my hand and hit the bar-top just eight inches below, shattering everywhere. I tried to catch the glass with my left hand, but instead caught a shard that sliced my finger and cut an artery in my pinky.