The Ink-Pot and the Palette

What you describe sounds surprisingly similar in structure to what I saw last night, including the shifting nature of the audience as the storyteller speaks differently. I didn't think of it consciously at the time, but I began as the somewhat discomfited witness to the rant of a drunk and disenfranchised homeless person, and went on to be alternately a theater audience, a child sitting at the campfire, a fellow soldier, a tavern patron, some courtier at a royal dinner, and finally...I don't know what I was at the end. Myself, I guess.

I am still trying to acquire the file. As soon as I have it, I'll get it to you.