His clothes are rumpled, and he keeps scratching.
Filming a horror movie, set inside a teeny-tiny book-lined room with a ladder.
I’m walking alone in an empty part of a strange city. Two men come up from behind. They grasp my arms and demand, not unpleasantly, my wallet and phone. I surrender them, but now I have no money, no map, and no way to call for help.
The back yard is mostly defensible, wrapped in layers of fencing. The streets and alleyways surrounding the house are devoid of people or traffic. It’s always this way when the sun goes down, they tell me.
I push him on a small cart with headlights. We move along the dark path through the cornfield to the place where she sits, waiting, in the centre.
The roads twist and nestle together like strands of fettucine.
An elegant black moth floats around the room, trailing a string of small, brightly coloured balloons.
Thick chunks of skin peel away from my scalp and cling to my hair like massive pieces of dandruff.
We auditioned the actor at night, down by the water’s edge. I had to step carefully to avoid pools of green water in the sand.
Looking for people who know ‘how to tie.’