Neu is here, as always, to remind us how secondhand our lives have become: Natural instincts are dead as a doornail, supplanted long ago by media-informed behavior just shy of stage-acting. "People say you've got to face the truth about yourself," intones one of his would-be oracles. "I say you've got to face the fiction." Neu's talent is that he faces these heady issues with a light touch, a raised eyebrow, and a Puckish wit; few playwrights can carry off such breezy intellectualism. The hour-long piece, directed by longtime collaborator Keith McDermott, is Neu's strongest and tightest play in years. A nearly nonstop feast of logic-bending "fašadism," psychobabblish bon mots, and hilariously dry-eyed tangents about smear campaigns and sports-arena bloodlust, it brings existential confusion into tight focus.