Looking back
over your shoulder
you look away from me
drawing your face
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
“It’s really a waste of time, isn’t it?” she asked.
He sighed.
“No, really,” she said, “they make digitizing tablets that attach to a laptop, don’t they?”
“This tool in my hand,” he said, “is called a painting knife. In slasher movies, girls always get killed with a knife, don’t they?”
“I’m just saying,” she said, “that either you’re going to use that image or you’re not. If you’re going to use it, this way you’re going to have to scan it. Or photograph it. And if you’re not going to use it then, really, what’s the point of us doing this? So, I mean, if you were doing this on a tablet, you wouldn’t have to waste time scanning and color-correcting and cropping and stuff.”
He sighed, again, and continued working.
“You’re ignoring me now, aren’t you?” she asked.
He didn’t say anything.
She posed silently for a moment, then made a face—a kind of combination of pressing her lips together into something almost but not quite a frown and rolling her eyes—and turned to look over her shoulder.
“Are you looking for the monster?” he asked, almost yelling. “Or are you trying to see all the way back to Los Angeles?”
“Don’t yell at me!” she said. “This is very hard for me. In Los Angeles people don’t just sit and do nothing.”
“Yeah,” he said, “in Los Angeles people work away really hard at doing nothing.”
“Oh, shut up,” she said. “Are we done?”
“Yes,” he said. “I think we are.”
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
The Loch Ness Monster Vs. Los Angeles
A Flute Playing And Fog Hides The Shore
Song As Eternal Monster Inside Sound
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