He was an usher for Aladdin once, when he was on an earlier draft of his play - some combination of general existential angst and pure horny loneliness, dropped straight onto the page. Usher watched the genie dance around and Aladdin swing Jasmine into the curtain call and gently begged the tourists not to drop their pants in the center aisle.
He took the subway to Inwood afterwards, cobbled together a whole scattered mess of a song and then scratched it all before he reached 207th street.
You can do better than this, his thoughts reminded him again.
Yeah. Usher knew.