Price. You're Priceless.

She Sits Before Me, Sullen But Hopeful, Characterless, About To Dissolve Into Tears. I Squeeze Her Hand Back, Moved, No, Touched By Her Ignorance Of Evil. She Has One More Test To Pass. Do You Own A Briefcase?” I Ask Her, Swallowing.

I Laugh Maniacally, Then Take A Deep Breath And Touch My Chest- Expecting A Heart To Be Thumping Quickly, Impatiently, But There's Nothing There, Not Even A Beat.

I Have No Problems Or Issues With Screenwriting In General.

I Tried To Make Meat Loaf Out Of The Girl But It Becomes Too Frustrating A Task And Instead I Spend The Afternoon Smearing Her Meat All Over The Walls, Chewing On Strips Of Skin I Ripped From Her Body

I Don't Know Why I Write What I Write.