I spent most of my 30s living out of a duffel bag. Five years in London, then bouncing between NYC and Boston when I got back to the States.
A friend set me up with a sublet in north Manhattan, and one night, after too many drinks, I ended up on Craigslist. I replied to a post looking for a camera person—cash job.
The next day my phone rang. I agreed to meet the guy in his Times Square office.
That’s where I met Gabe, an older man with a tracheotomy who had to press his finger to his throat to speak. He told me we were going to meet Joey.
In a tiny rented office, I met Joey Cargill—a 49-year-old businessman with boundless energy. He told me he planned to dance in Times Square every night for 69 nights, then head to Vegas to get hired as a dancer. He handed me a hundred bucks on the spot.
I was in.
For weeks, I filmed Joey dancing in Times Square, rain or shine. After night 69, I said my goodbyes—until my phone rang again. Joey wanted me to come to Vegas.
My sublet was ending, and I figured, when will I ever get invited to the desert by a madman again? So I went.
I spent months living out of a Marriott timeshare, filming Joey as he danced in Vegas clubs night after night. I saw Calvin Harris’s set more times than I can count.
In the end, Joey never got hired as a dancer.
This documentary is about his adventure.