On a Sunday night in Brooklyn, Misty Owens sits cross-legged on a worn futon, methodically mending holes in the black tights she wears for dance class and performing. She selects one pair at a time from the amorphous pile of spandex and cotton resting beside her on the comforter that her mom, who still lives in Dallas, gave her to disguise the tired futon. Her bedroom in the three-story apartment house in Park Slope, a New York City neighborhood, has one window that faces away from the street. Her view is decidedly un-city-like. She can see small back yards, children, and family pets from where she sits. She gets homesick "a little," she says, but lately she is just plain tired of the lifestyle in the cultural hub of the known universe. She has had it with constant commuting into Manhattan, working three jobs plus a freelance gig or two to take home $400 a week on average, and dealing with tough-talking agents who hold the promise of success... More >>>