P.K.’s assistant, the guy famous in the office for banging secretaries against the wall of the powder room in the office’s main corridor, a guy named Nate Binswanger, told me to get over it. What exactly “it” meant to him, I wouldn’t know, but it pertained to my sulky attitude, he said, following the death
FADE IN: INT. CABIN – NIGHT A ramshackle lodge. We pan across the cluttered floor – empty containers of Eggo’s lay strewn amongst crude drawings of dark monsters. We slow down as we slide up to a bed. A WOMAN lies sleeping, her closed eyelids fluttering in deep REM sleep. The cabin door opens violently.
