Someone whose Zoom handle identifies him as “Sebastian’s Dad” signals his entry into the teleconference with a digital bloop-bloop. A moment later, Lin-Manuel Miranda’s face fills the screen. He has bags under his eyes, and his hair has grown out into a tousled Edwardian flip. I ask him how he is doing. Miranda does not treat this as a boilerplate question.
“I’m as OK and as fed up and as tired and as energized and as angry and….” He pauses before finishing the thought. “I’m where everybody else is,” he says.