Last Updated on October 2, 2025

It’s no secret my greatest love is theatre. From the time I was three years old, I knew I wanted to be an actor.  

In an effort to make new friends after moving to Maine, I auditioned for a local production of Shrek. (One of my least favorite shows, but full of some of my soon-to-be favorite people). And you know what it taught me? Third places (theatre being one of them) matter. 

Thanks to theatre, I fell into a gorgeous community, and these days, I volunteer in (almost) every corner (painting sets, assisting with costumes, and of course performing!). Here’s everything you need to know about what a third place is and why we need more of them. 

what is a third place? 

A third place is a public spot you can meet and connect with others through a shared interest or skill (like theatres!).  

Third places are fantastic for socializing, exchanging ideas, and building community. Basically, a safe space to be yourself and find like-minded people.  

Many third places are also entirely free, or low-cost. This is incredibly important because almost everywhere you go nowadays requires payment just to get in or participate. This creates an air of exclusivity and can keep lower income communities away. 

But several third place areas are entirely free (like libraries and parks), or accessible due to their affordable pricing. 

And beyond being good for our wallets, third places are equally good for our health. That’s because humans are social creatures that enjoy being around other people.

At third places like cafes, you can interact with strangers from various backgrounds and incomes in a positive, safe environment. Because everyone, from all walks of life, are welcome there. 

why are third places disappearing? 

Third places aren’t necessarily disappearing, but they were impacted by the pandemic when being around groups of people became hazardous.  

Specifically, third places like coffee shops, bars, and gyms were hit hardest. However, the opposite was true for parks – everyone became aware just how important our outdoor spaces are.  

That said, many third places never fully recovered from the pandemic when certain businesses realized they could function 100% remote. For example, if no one is arriving in person to a business office, a nearby cafe might suffer from less foot traffic. And rising rents don’t help matters. 

Last but not least, certain people may find it difficult to locate a third place near them if they live in a rural setting. Third places tend to be easier to locate in cities.  

However, third places can also be found through online communities (more on that later). The irony is the internet has also led to the decline of physical third places.

I think it’s important to have both so there’s a balance. Online communities are amazing, but there’s something about meeting people in person that hits different.

how is a third place different from a hangout? 

A third place is different from a hangout in the sense you go there to socialize without any specific goal in mind. Or sometimes, you don’t socialize at all – but simply want to be around other like-minded people.  

Whereas a hangout is more planned, a third places doesn’t demand any kind of itinerary or interaction if you don’t want to. Sometimes just hearing neighboring gossip or interacting with a barista is enough. 

For example, if you go to a gym, you could chat up the person using the machine next to you. Or, you could simply enjoy the presence of others. There’s no right or wrong.  

But with a hangout, you go with the intention of socializing and getting to know someone (or multiple someones).  

how is a third place different from a club? 

A third place is different from a club in the sense that clubs tend to be more exclusive, whereas third places are for everyone.  

Typically, third places don’t have memberships (unless they’re gyms). There’s no barrier between you and that place. Everyone is welcome.  

For example, if you’re trying to get into a ‘Homeowners Club’ the one requirement would be to be a homeowner. Which many Americans cannot afford, especially considering the cost of living is going up. 

There’s no obligation to be at a third place. Nor are there any specific dress codes or strict requirements. Anyone from any class, culture and gender can participate without pulling rank.  

why do third places matter?

Third places matter because they offer people another place to relax, unwind, and connect outside of their homes. Without spending aberrant amounts of money.

Third places encourage social connection without any pressure to perform. We choose how much we engage, if at all. And sometimes just being around other people is enough.

During the pandemic when only essential personnel were leaving the house, it was a stark reminder of how important these spaces are. Without human connection, mental health suffers.

On top of this, third places can be wonderful, neutral areas to do work and start projects. Think of your local cafe, bursting with people doodling in sketchbooks, writing in notepads and typing on laptops.

People flock to these locations not just for free WiFi – but to experience a change of scenery. Make light hearted conversation. Savor a cup of coffee made by someone else. Whatever the reason, there’s a clear need for them.

what are examples of third places? 

There are several examples of third places, including: 

• Libraries 
• Parks, playgrounds and dog parks 
• Cafes 
• Theatres
• Bars and lounges
• State parks and nature reserves 
• Gyms and yoga studios 
• Recreation or community centers  
• Community beautification group 
• Community gardens 
• Privately owned public spaces (like a plaza) 

These are just a few I could think of off the top of my head, but I’m sure there are plenty more third places.  

Also, be mindful of online third places as well! For those who don’t have access to any of the above, you may be able to find solace with online communities like Reddit groups, digital book clubs, Instagram group chats, and WhatsApp community groups.  

That being said, there’s a charm to visiting a third place in person. So if you’re able, and have access to one, definitely take full advantage!

So, will you be visiting a third place? Let me know in the comments! 

“It’s not any of ours. Love belongs to itself. It moves how it wants to move and sometimes you catch it, and sometimes you don’t.”

Have you ever loved a friend so much they were your muse? And you loved every part of each other and you had parts that the other lacked. And you inspired each other and your love was a type of insanity and your love worked. The insanity worked. The insanity took care of the both of you and from your love you birthed a third thing. Sometimes an unspoken thing. And you hated each other as much as you loved each other for all the things you had and did not have. And you lived together many times. And he was your muse and he collected his pee in jars and you took care of him not just because you didn’t want him to die but because also he was the most interesting thing about you. Because maybe it made you a good person to take care of him. Like your friendship was the most interesting thing about you. You would go on benders in Miami doing drugs and meeting strangers and letting your love for each other take you anywhere. Take you to strangers houses and weird bars and to the beach at midnight. And your love couldn’t save each other. And your love couldn’t save either of you from time. And your love was a revolution because the way you loved each other brought about a better world between you two. And you were both better for it and also plagued by the insanity of it. Your love could not outrun time. And when your relationship fell apart you grieved in a way you had never grieved before. And then you found yourself at this play called Bad Stars and the play was about a love story all too similar to your own. And the play was about what to do in the ruins of such a type of heartbreak. A love story with no sex.

I have to tell you. I have seen Bad Stars twice now. Before it ends its run at Collapsable Hole, I will have seen it three times. I would see it five times if I could. Twice I’ve seen this play, twice I’ve left the theatre in tears, because it is doing what it is saying it is doing. It is saying a lot. Bad Stars is a play about a love story and what to do in the ruins of that love. It is a play about a love story and worms. It is a story about how to write a story. About friends breaking up and giving this story to the audience, to someone. Knowing they’ll know what to do with the ruins. I’m in ruin and I’m in awe. I got wrapped up in the slapstick and creativity of it all and then I got punched in the gut. I got devastated, because it was a story all too true.

Jess Barbagallo and Bobbi Salvör Menuez in Bad Stars, photo by Maria Baranova

I’ve never read Sam Shepard’s True West and I don’t need to. Bad Stars, an adaptation written and directed by Amanda Horowitz is everything I need to see and hear and be consumed by right now. Bad Stars is an adaptation and then some. Two brothers writing a movie about worms. But then chaos ensues. But then, things slice off and off creating new things. Wriggiling scenes and characters. Writhing spurts of language that I hold onto. I can’t shake this play. I wake up and think “It was Chester.”

Bad Stars is about the disintegration of boundaries in every form you can conceive. Time, language, plot, setting, character, performance, relationships, personhood, the end of the world, revolution. Where things stop and begin and where they don’t. What that does to us as people. What it does to love.

I walk into the set and immediately I’m brought into the world Horowitz is setting up for us. A painter sits on an elevated platform, with an easel and paints and canvas. She’s painting. Her paintings decorate the set around us. We’re in it. All of us are waiting. Her paints are desert colored, dusty hues of gray, blue, brown, and muted reds. When does the play begin? Is it when the painter makes her first stroke?

Adi Blaustein Rejto in Bad Stars, photo by Maria Baranova

Bad Stars introduces itself to us through sounds. Chicken sounds, words being yelled behind the walls surrounding us. “Boyyyysssss” in a southern drawl is repeated. Then, almost Romeo and Juliet style, the two brothers appear above our heads. Talking to each other from across the room, high up. Coyote (Bobbi Salvör Menuez) opens a curtain, Cricket (Jess Barbagallo) pokes his head out over the wall that encircles us. They talk about Chester, a third thing, love. How love is like animals, like children. Love is its own thing. I get caught in the net of language. They address us, the audience. “Stop saying you’re alone, all these people are here”. This play is about the blurring and the retelling of our relationships. About contending with time, with clocks.

There are five characters in this play. The Painter, the brothers, Cricket and Coyote, Macrame Mama and Papa. Papa. Pasta. Papa Pasta. He’s a drunk dad. He’s drunk and in the desert and he’s got two sons. One good. One bad. He says so as he stumbles on stage. The painter sits silently painting.

Bad Stars is like stage direction poetry. Another boundary played with. When does a play become a poem and when does a poem become a play? The actors speak in poems. The brothers enter the stage, moving like worms on the ground. I’m never lost in this production. Each utterance brings me to the next place I need to be. Each monologue, every line, builds the history of these brothers up around them. They are in the desert and there is an ocean in the desert.

Two characters in one. Papa Pasta and Macrame Mama are played by the same actor, Pete Simpson. Another disintegration of boundaries? The actor does an amazing job of embodying the two and adding to the playful world of Bad Stars. Crassness and earnestness and camp erupt from Simpson’s performance. There are amazing feats of the body happening throughout the production. At one point Cricket is on the floor, flagellating like a worm while lip syncing drag style “Teenage Dirtbag” by Wheatus. I can’t stop thinking in my head “this is genius.” There is insane poetry of the body, of the eye, of the spirit in this production. Done through the overlapping and breaking down of language, movement, ideas.

Pete Simpson in Bad Stars, photo by Maria Baranova

The ethos of Bad Stars is repeated again and again in different ways through the splitting and slices. It is given different points of views from all characters. It is delivered in beautiful and heartbreaking ways. The brothers lip sync to “Highwayman” by The Highwaymen and facilitate a flow of cash throughout the audience. Passing out dollars and taking them back. I’m smiling at this act of play while the lyrics of “Highwayman” reverberate around the room. The song is about time, death, and again-ness. Much so like the play. Papa Pasta delivers a monologue on getting on the wrong train getting stuck on the wrong train. Coyote delivers a monologue about loneliness, charm, and stars. What if Cricket was the only one to ever see Coyote for who he is? To give him redemption again and again. Cricket says to Coyote “I want to write a script that makes you cry, it’s so good.” Horowitz has done this. There is a rhythm to the production where I get swept up in the comedy, in the dadaism, surreal, world-making, and dissection of language. Suddenly the rug is pulled out from under me and I am face to face with an emotional truth that makes me want to drop to my knees and sob. There is an insane honesty wrapped up in the mechanizations of language and production and play.

This play is a blueprint of what to do with this type of heartbreak that is so familiar to many of us. To me at least. It felt like God. Horowoitz, producer Max Mooney, and the cast do a brilliant job of buttering you up with playful language, lovable characters, magic tricks of the stage and then devastating in the way I needed to be. It was like a mirror. It was like a tutorial video on what to do in the ruins of these relationships we have. I didn’t feel alone.

Jess Barbagallo and Bobbi Salvör Menuez in Bad Stars, photo by Maria Baranova

In the final scene, Macrame Mama comes home from her vacation on a fishing boat in Alaska and sees what the boys have done to her home while she is away. She takes everything in. She tells the painter to move, that she, Mama, wants to be the artist now.

“This canvas is like a net I throw over the ruins and see what it picks up.”

Which feels like this play. Which feels like art. Which feels like all we can do with the experiences given to us by love and life and how to share it with others. I am grateful this was in Horowitz’s net and that she gave it to us on this canvas.

This play is about two brothers cut from the same root. Estranged but now brought back together to write a movie. A movie about worms and love. A love story about friendship and the family you choose. When they were kids they would channel their energy to say and do the same thing. They would play games. Their love was a third thing that you couldn’t catch or own. Like children. Like animals. It was Chester.

Bad Stars runs through Sunday, June 8 at Collapsable Hole. 

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