Owner: 365Fiction URL:http://topwritecorner.com Join Date: Sun, 25 Feb 2007 00:39:55 -0600 Rating:0 Site Description: 365Fiction is an attempt to publish a brand new short story every day for an entire year. Site statistics:Click here
Dream 2007-04-15 05:28:13 “If an angel descended out of the stars and told me to lie about how we met, I couldn’t do it. It wouldn’t be right to change history like that. It’s not history if you rewrite it.”
She was lying in his arms, wrapped in the post-coital glow as she whispered those words to him. He didn’t know what to say so he settled for struggling with his eyelids until they sucumbed to their urge to come together and he fell asleep. While he slept, he dreamt.
Of his parents.
His mother was wearing a wetsuit with pearls around her neck so that their creamy whiteness stood out brilliantly against the rubber grey-black of the wetsuit. He couldn’t fight the urge to touch the pearls so he reached out his hand and it was like trying to go forward in water. Just then his father stepped between his mother and him. He was dressed like a king from India’s past, as seen in countless movies and television shows, the gold of his tunic bright enough to make him want to shield his eyes.
His father Read more:Dream
First Strike 2007-04-17 05:41:31 The field monitors had been shut down for the day. The authorities had long ceased to imagine that anyone would attempt any form of rebellious activity in the daytime. It’s what rebels and whistle-blowers had relied on from the beginning of time – the expectations of the authorities. That was essentially the difference between the powerful and the powerless. The former had expectations. They worked hard to quell the freedoms of others so that those expectations could be met. Whether it was for profit or market share, a constituency or contract, it had always been the domain of the powerful to state their expectations.
Like the field monitors and the fact that they were only switched on in the nighttime. There were guards and infra-red scanners; there was laser-equipped sighting equipment, both in the daytime as well as night but only the field monitors came on at night. Something about the authorities expecting their enemies to act with impunity only under the shadow of darkness. Read more:First
Cleansing Fire 2007-04-19 07:58:06 All there was to hear was the high-pitched whistling sound. All there was to see was smoke. Thick, sometimes white but mostly grey and definitely shielding little licks of fire that could flare up at any moment. People in the vicinity were being cautious. They didn’t understand it and like in every other case, when a person doesn’t understand something, she is afraid of it.
As a child, Rohit had been fairly hyperactive. He could barely ever sit still, he was always full of questions and he had very few people in his life inclined to humour him. His parents told him not to make such a nuisance of himself. His teachers complained to the principal who called in his parents to tell them what a nuisance he could be. So his parents apologised to the principal and told him again when they took him home.
Until the day he met Uncle Rehman. Rohit wasn’t Muslim so Rehman wasn’t really his uncle. That didn’t matter because every adult who wasn’t his father was an uncle and every wom
Learn To Love 2007-04-18 06:26:51 The place looked less like the messy room of a teenager and more like the messy command centre of an elite task force that had neglected to pick up after itself. His name was Ankush and he was a (young) man on a mission. It’s just that the mission was one so terrifying that even individuals with an IQ that classified them as mentally challenged would have wondered how he didn’t see the effects of what he was going to do.
Charts, diagrams, hand-drawn sketches and computer-modelled images were pinned or taped to every available surface in the room. Post-it notes adorned a giant map of the world that occupied most of an entire wall. Stacks of paper were piled up high on every surface.
An expert in such matters, perhaps someone who worked in a supermarket supervising the stacking of shelves, would have determined form the the way the thick reports sat atop each other that he started with his desk, began moving old reports around as newer ones gained prominence until he had perfected h
The Good Soldier 2007-04-21 06:48:05 He knew how it worked. After being told a million times, he also understood it. Of the things expected of them, loyalty was number one. Keeping their mouths shut was a close second. He could probably write a small book or a long movie about the stuff that went on behind closed doors. Instead he was expected to do what was asked without complaint or question. He had been a good soldier for fifteen years. Over the past two however, he had begun to renege on his promise to serve the greater good so that he could finally look out for the people that mattered more – his own family over the one he worked for.
His name was Birju and he had served as one of a battery of cooks employed by the superstar’s family since his arrival in the metropolis as a twenty one-year-old. The heat in the big city was different from what he was used to in his village. It was more wet and salty, possibly because of the sea’s proximity. It took him a while to get used to the noise and the fact that life prog
Another Version Of The Truth 2007-04-20 05:11:29 “You see son, your mother and I wanted to believe that there was another way to resolve this crisis but we have tried everything in our power and there doesn’t seem to be anything else for us to do.”
He was thinking his father could go extremely long without having to take a breath. Just because he was small for his age he often got treated like a child. He was fourteen years old. He was not a child.
He had smoked a half cigarette with Manish when he was eleven. He had been stealing sips from his father’s Black Label and soda since he was seven. He had tasted his mother’s gin and tonic several times but he thought the gin spoilt the taste of the tonic so he gulped down the remnants when his mother had fixed her drink. Nishita had allowed him to touch her boob when he was twelve. She was thirteen at the time so that had made the whole experience extra special. He knew what words like ‘blowjob’ and ‘wank’ meant, well at least he had an idea that they were in some way c Read more:Truth
My Violent Heart 2007-04-22 04:16:56 He was screaming like he needed to be heard over a raging fire or an incoming tidal wave. It was past three in the morning and the city was much, much quieter than normal. She couldn’t say she understood why he did it but she liked how it made her feel.
“What the hell is wrong with that boy?” That’s what people liked to ask. She didn’t actually know that they liked to ask it but they sure asked that question a lot so she assumed that they liked asking it. It’s not like any of them was really looking for an answer. They just liked the sound of their own voices when they asked the question.
She watched him from the passenger seat as he did his thing, lit only by the headlights of the car and whatever streetlights were still working. From her seat it was like watching a widescreen movie. The windscreen framed his actions and her leading man was performing for her benefit.
One more minute…
“I don’t care who knows it! I love her! I love this girl! I want everybody to know Read more:Heart
Vessel 2007-04-24 06:48:18 “Wait. No really, just wait. Okay now! Check it out. Don’t let her see you. Just look at her and tell me you wouldn’t hit that. Well guess what, she can’t be hit. You can’t ask her out, you can’t buy her a drink. You can’t have relations with her for love or money. How fucked up is that? I mean look at that ass! She could stop traffic at Times Square with that ass. She could end world hunger with that ass. Hell I’d give all my money to Africa if she flashed those titties in my face!”
“But forget about it man. No sale! I tried! Nothing. She’s shot down more brothers than the anti-aircraft guns in World War II. It can’t be done, I’m telling you!”
With a sales pitch like that I had to give it a shot. It’s the reason why men swim the oceans and jump off tall places with just a rubber band around their legs. What else you going to do in a neighbourhood where everybody knows everybody’s business before they know it themselves?
Old Mr. Berkeley on the third flo
Survivalism 2007-04-23 06:47:24 Hamid was flat on his ass. His back propped up by the scarred and pitted wall. His nerveless legs stretched out in front of him like those of a child in the throes of a not-standing tantrum. The pistol in his hand was empty. Though his face was bloody it wasn’t his. The blood pumping out of his side was. Everything before him swam in and out of view. Not that there was much to see. There is rarely anything worth looking at in a bombed out tenement. There’s always something worth searching for though, like family jewels that hadn’t been pawned yet or, even rarer, some money. So he was staring at the cratered, damaged, shadowy skeletons of walls and remembering how he had come to be like this.
It all began when the white man visited. He came bearing gifts. He was a friend of his sister’s from when she had studied at the foreign university. She had returned more conservative than she had left. She had taken to wearing traditional clothing and praying regularly. At first it had ple Read more:Survivalism
Envelope 2007-04-29 09:32:17 The envelope lay on his table, with the other unopened correspondence. The corner that stuck out from between a couple of boring conventional brown ones was a delicate shade of pink. Curiosity made him pin the edge down with forefinger and slide it away from its less inviting companions. The address and his name were printed off a computer so he looked for a post-mark in the hope of getting some clue to the sender’s identity.
It had been mailed from Kandivili, a fact that brought an immediate feature-ageing frown to his face. Jerry was quite certain that he didn’t know anyone from that suburb,
Probably just some junk mail…
He stared at it even though its sheer appearance was incapable of telling him anything further. His name stared back. Jerry Machado. Not Mister Jerry Machado - just Jerry Machado.
Familiarity? Or the so called ‘personal touch’?
Either someone he knew had moved to Kandivili or this person had already earned a couple of negative points for omitting the res Read more:Envelope
The Agency 2007-04-28 06:59:51 The Plexiglas board by the door merely read ‘The Agency.’ The woman behind the reception desk was reciting a litany that consisted of the following words, “Good Morning, The Agency. How may I direct your call?”
A small pause.
“One moment please.” She pushed one button to direct the call and another to accept the next one.
The slick man in the sharp suit with the perfectly combed hair and the shiny white smile sauntered over after smiling at the guard by the door and leaned on the reception counter. Without a break or any sort of alteration in her rhythm she smiled at him. He smiled and said, “Hi.”
She was a stunningly beautiful woman. Looks like hers were described in breathless hyperbole between the covers of a romance novel or with great attention to the dimensions of her curves if she featured in a hardboiled novel written by a man. It only added to her allure that she was wearing rimless spectacles. She was like a readymade advertisement for myopia.
When she had
Four Floors 2007-04-27 09:55:40 It was a legend. It was reality. It was everything that the boy-men visiting could hope for and it was the only place to go to in a city that held few delights for those not interested in steel or the stink of another ship pulling into dock. It was the only game in a town without a stadium and everybody flocked to the building like true believers making the mandatory pilgrimage. They came from all over, different races from far flung places dropped anchor and rushed ashore on rubbery legs. Some stayed back to supervise the unloading while the others walked or took cabs to the only place they had dreamed of during their last twenty four hours at sea.
They called it many things but the most common name was ‘Four Floors
Of Whores.’ It was catchy and perfectly descriptive. It was the type of name that filled the young sailor with anticipation and the seasoned traveler with something to look forward to at the end of a long journey. It was a slightly rundown building on the corner of Alf
Hyperpower 2007-04-26 08:09:15 There was the soft scratching sound, it was all you could hear, if your brain was capable of tuning out the sound of the ceiling fan, the traffic outside the window and the ticking of the grandfather clock. It was the sound of a young artist at work. He didn’t think of himself as a young artist. He didn’t think of himself at all, as anything anyway. He knew what he liked, not because he was old enough to elucidate such things but because he tried to find the time to do the things he liked.
Drawing was one of them.
He was four years old and his mother thanked all the gods in her heaven that she had been gifted a child who did not feel the need to tear up the house before he fell asleep each day. Her Varun was very happy as long as he had a sheet of paper, a sharpened pencil and an eraser. Sometimes when he looked up at her, from his position on the floor and smiled suddenly, she thought her heart would explode. No man had ever made her feel like that. It was like watching the mos
The Warning 2007-04-25 07:02:01 The air-conditioning was up all the way, just the way he liked it. The engine was idling and he was keeping an eye out for traffic cops. He checked his watch to confirm that she had been gone for close to ten minutes. Experience told him that he had at least another fifteen to go before she returned. He settled in, wiggled his back against the seat and tried to get as comfortable as he could. He was contemplating playing games on his cellphone when the door swung open. “That was…,” his throat closed up at the sight of the creamy white legs climbing into the car, the legs that did not belong to his wife. She settled into the seat, slammed the door shut and stared straight ahead, “Drive.”
It has been a long known secret, only to womankind that men possess an as-yet-unmapped gene they would codename DID if they cared to do silly things like that. No heterosexual male can resist the damsel in distress, especially if she happens to be attractive. Witness the hot but clueless girl
The Quiet Bar 2007-05-02 07:27:30 There were all kinds of sounds in the tiny, dark space. Giggles, laughter, voices (male and female) over the clinking of glasses, the crunching of peanuts and fries, a foot stepping on uncleared broken glass, sighs and possibly even a moan or two; it was a sound designer’s dream (or nightmare). And then, suddenly, a quiet bomb went off.
It went off at the main door but the shock waves rippled through the entire bar. Slowly at first and then the waves of silence picked up speed as more patrons became aware of the detonation at the entrance. The silence enveloped everything, seeping into the nooks and crannies, affecting even the tiny tables set in darkened alcoves where people did God-knows-what in the afforded privacy. Everybody fell silent, everything went quiet. Less than thirty ticks after it first went off, the bomb had destroyed all sound.
She had that effect on people.
Even when she wasn’t dressed in funereal black.
Which is completely different from cocktail black by the way Read more:Quiet
News Coverage 2007-05-01 08:48:45 “Admit it, you’re like this because of the article.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Why are you being such a little bitch about it?”
“You’re the bitch. Always were, always will be.”
“Jealousy really is your favourite colour isn’t it?”
“So I guess arrogance must be yours.”
It all began with a poem. Seven years ago.
Kamal got published in the school newspaper. Something about rain and life and the frogs in her garden. Very tenth standard, very “my mum said I’m a poet so I must be.” The fame went to her head. She swelled with pride every time a teacher stopped her in a school corridor to say how much she had liked the poem. There was something so intoxicating about the whole experience that she tingled all day long in her special place. At first the constant warmth emanating from ‘down there’ worried her and then when she rubbed it to make it go away she nearly fell off the bed from the electric surge that raced through her.
Between Read more:Coverage
Driving Lessons 2007-04-30 08:54:43 “You’re grinding the gears!”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“You’re fucking up my car!”
She giggled then, “Okay that. I know what it means.”
“So please, don’t?”
“It’s only a car.”
“I know. And if I had the money to get it repaired I’d let you drive it into a wall just to see how that feels.”
“You said you would let me practice.”
He nodded, “I know.”
He looked so miserable, she wanted to end the charade right then and climb across the gear shaft onto his lap. Cup his jaw in her fingers and suck on his lower lip. Grind the gusset of her jeans against the fly of his so that he could know that she appreciated what he was doing for her.
But she couldn’t; they couldn’t. The long line of cars stuck behind theirs on the sloping road would not appreciate the heat of young passion when they were just trying to get wherever they were going. So she tried again, one part of her brain still wondering what his lower lip would taste of. And she mana Read more:Driving
, Lessons
Beautiful Rebel 2007-05-04 07:33:47 “Fuck you suburbia!!”
She had a way with words, that one. She had a way with actions as well but it was in the way she said the things she said she managed to have the most impact. Those three words were sort of her call sign. She yelled those words into the wind swirling off the homes at the bottom of the hill. She stuck her head out the car window, all the way to her waist and gave the finger to anonymous front doors as we zipped past at twice the speed limit.
And she said it to me while we made love.
Not that she called it that.
She said we were “just fucking.”
Her name was Keana and she was always in motion. A still picture of her would always have some part blurred. She could never sit still, not for one second. And she looked like she’d been drawn by a man. Only a man could be so clueless about a woman’s physical proportions. She was like a cross between a manga heroine and something out of the Aeon Flux universe. Skinny arms that failed to reflect the intense amou Read more:Beautiful
, Rebel
Spy Stuff 2007-05-07 07:06:30 He was squinting.
It wasn’t a flattering expression on him, “It looks like her but I’m not sure.”
Andrew squeezed his shoulder, “Listen, I might not have done this a million times before but I’m telling you it was her.”
“And why were you following her?”
“I wasn’t! I live there remember? I was just watching the neighbourhood with my camera when I saw her.”
“And what was she doing exactly?”
“I don’t know. That guy was involved.” He poked the picture with an accusing finger.
“Did you get a good look at his face?”
“Not really. They hugged and went inside.”
“And then?”
“It’s a regular camera John. It can’t see through walls or anything.”
“It’s not much is it? What does it mean? Is she seeing someone behind my back?”
“I don’t know what it means. I only took the picture. It didn’t come with a caption if that’s what you’re asking.”
“So what was she doing there?”
“I don’t know man.”
“I was talking to myself.
Exotic Dancer 2007-05-06 08:53:06 “Your going to hell. Be sure to pack water! Because I’m sure the Devil won’t give a rat’s ass if you’re thirsty!”
This is what I get for being the good guy.
What was I supposed to do? I was away, it was an unfriendly city and the only place a guy could hang out without attracting too much attention from trigger-happy cops looking for terrorists, was a strip club.
Very uninspired the show was. How many times can a girl take her clothes off in front of complete strangers before it becomes no different from undressing in her bedroom?
The boredom of sex workers. I’m sure it’s crushing. Sort of like the lack of wonder in the eyes of people who work in the movie business.
I was certain the lap dances were no better. But I decided to get one anyway.
I signalled a waitress, she looked great in the reddish light but I was sure I wouldn’t take a second look in sunlight, “What can I get you sugar?”
“How much to go in there?”
“Fifty for Amanda. A hundred for Clarice. Read more:Dancer
Memory Divine 2007-05-05 06:55:02 Mind your own business padri! This has nothing to do with you!
The fog lifted as if black fluid was being drained from clear water. Even when he could see, nothing was clear. Solid objects were defined by fluid, undulating lines. He didn’t know where he was but he was sitting down. The thumb and forefinger of his right hand felt pressure, from something small, round and hard. He struggled to focus. It was a bead, specifically a rosary bead.
Our father
Who art in heaven
Hallowed be thy name…
He knew the words, he knew they corresponded with a position on the rosary. He didn’t know why the words had automatically begun ringing through his head the moment he became aware of holding a rosary. It was like someone had released the pause button on a cassette tape and a new song had begun playing.
He looked around the room.
Coat hanger.
He knew the word.
Cupboard.
He knew the word.
His free hand t Read more:Memory
, Divine
If 2007-05-09 05:41:55 If.
Motherfucking if.
Cocksucking, ass-raping, genocide of girl-children if.
Two letters shoved together to make every living breathing life a living breathing hell. The ninth letter next to the sixth letter, like a couple doing sixty-nine who decide to face the other way. So that all a voyeur can see is two spines grating against each other where earlier there was the promise of erotica and mutual release.
That would pretty much sum up all there was to sum up about the word if. Striking it from one’s vocabulary is well nigh impossible. So many situations cannot be properly defined, adequately illustrated or arrogantly over-described without the use of if.
The word was killing me slowly and there was sweet F-A I could to about it.
Aaarrrggghhh!
No I don’t feel better. Worse in fact, now that my throat hurts, in addition to my nuts.
If only I hadn’t felt the need to confess.
If only I had been capable of taking my secret to my grave.
If only I wasn’t such a think-with-my-d
Sisterhood 2007-05-08 09:22:58 Manisha had started life as the quiet child in her family. While her older sister hogged all the glory Manisha was content to sit in the back and watch as people applauded Kamini after she sang a song at her own fourth birthday party, stood first in class in the third standard and won an inter-school debating competition when she was fourteen.
Manisha told herself that she was happy outside the spotlight. She didn’t need the attendant glory to feel proud of her achievements. It wasn’t like she lacked creativity. It wasn’t that she was anti-social. She just didn’t feel the need to seek fame as a child.
At sixteen, Kamini got caught with a boy. They didn’t have enough clothes on and the boy’s mother was not amused. Manisha was fourteen at the time and she didn’t completely understand what was going on but she knew that her fame had got Kamini into more trouble than she would have been in if she was one of the anonymous ones.
A point that was proven when Manisha began her o
Punk Rock 2007-05-03 04:10:09 You’re killing me with kindness
Yes really you are
And I’d rather live forever
Than be suffocated by love
The band raged on for what seemed like an eternity. I wondered how long I could take it. Would throwing a bottle of beer that it may draw blood be an affirmation of the band’s twisted lyrical mantras? Or was I destined for handcuffs and a jail cell because I couldn’t just ‘enjoy the good, clean fun’?
I mean seriously, who’s that angry? Who has the right to be that angry?
The Africans? Certainly.
The Katrina-affected that got no help? Sure!
A snot-nosed punk band that got fed up of mom and dad’s basement and decided that the ‘world needed to feel their pain’? Fuck no!
This isn’t even punk! It’s barely even punk lite! A lop-sided tattoo and early-signs-of-anorexia physique suggest the need for a sandwich, shower and spanking (skip it if they might enjoy it). All that angst, all that Avril Lavigne wannabe bullshit that only appeals to the twelve-year-olds who Read more:Punk Rock
Hostage Situation 2007-05-12 07:44:20 “Has it ever occurred to you that we work so hard to protect what was never ever really ours?”
The man had a gun, what were they going to do? Disagree?
Which is not to say he didn’t have a point.
It’s just bad manners to try and press a point when you’re holding a loaded gun. Doesn’t really allow the other person opportunity to properly consider an argument. Or courage. How many people would argue in the presence of a gun? Even if they happened to have one of their own nudging the smalls of their backs. Not many, not any actually.
A person’s ability to spit words pales in comparison to a gun’s ability to spit lead. A harsh word might sting for years after it’s been forgotten by the one who uttered it but the permanence of a smooth bullet’s impact ensures we don’t get to feel anything at all.
Nobody accepts that choice willingly when the gun is in someone else’s hand.
So they stayed down like they were told to and waited or prayed or wished or hoped for the Read more:Hostage
New Clear Perspective 2007-05-11 07:57:13 “I knocked up my wife and then I ran away,” the man who said that to me looked like the most miserable person in the world. I should know. I had seen my share of misery. I had borne witness to enough suffering by others to recognise the real thing. I don’t use the term lightly.
Ever.
It wasn’t the shaking. That’s just a junkie’s body demanding its next fix. I ignore that kind of discomfort, in myself and in others. If he was confiding in me in the hope that I’d help him score, he would find out how wrong he was. It’s not that I don’t sympathise. All recovering addicts sympathise because a relapse is part of the healing process. I sympathise but I’m not going to be the one who indirectly sticks another needle in his arm.
Doing battle with demons has been what I’ve dedicated my life to. It’s how I make up for all the bad things I’ve. It’s why I wake up in the morning after having prayed for death before going to bed at night.
You live the life I’ve lived Read more:Clear
, Perspective
Together Forever 2007-05-10 07:08:08 They were spent, yet somehow unable to let go. Satisfied, yet greedy for more. Eyes locked like twin tractor beams that were only complete when they overlapped. The heaving of their chests was matched by the frenzy of an audience united by their love of the spectacle. They were pressed together, hip to sternum and they had to crane their necks as far back as they would go so that they could look into each other’s eyes and see something other than indistinct pupils. Their hair was damp and clung to the side of their faces and the back of their necks. Their shoulders were relaxed but their grips were tense, preparing for the next onslaught.
The buzz rose across the room as the opening chords of another song were struck. The woman at the head of the band was a whirling dervish, all hair, bare arms and mirrored skirt. The tank top she wore clung to her every curve and while a few of them were eye-catching, the connoisseur would have given the thumbs down to the visible muffin top leaking Read more:Forever
Looks Like Rain 2007-05-15 06:35:56 He looked out the window and thought, it smells like rain.
It’s only May.
May was struggling to hold on, one half was already in the shredder but still, it was only May! What the hell was the air doing, smelling like rain in the middle of May?
He knew how it would play out.
A week or so of overcast skies and humidity so heavy everybody would look like they were participants in a wet t-shirt contest. And then…the skies would open up and drown the city. The smell of shit on the street mixing with dirt, that green smell of leaves getting hydrated, that cloying cool of suspended water particles in the air would be everywhere.
For about a day and a half.
And then, clear blue skies and sweltering heat for another three to four weeks. June would come and threaten to go without a drop of rain in sight. The met department would pretend like they hadn’t seen anything like it before while scraping through the pages of old reports to check the last time the rain was this late coming. Televi Read more:Looks
Queens Of College 2007-05-14 07:14:26 “You’re really just queen of all you survey aren’t you?”
He was looking at her with affection rather than envy. She loved him for that. She looked around the crowded cafeteria, nodded, and stuck her tongue out at him, “Yeah. So what?”
“Nothing. I think it’s awesome.”
“You’re jealous.”
“I’m going to lose respect for you if you insist on saying stupid things like that.”
“You’re not jealous.”
He waited, knew there was more.
“You’ve never been jealous. As far as I know you’re missing one bone in your skeleton.”
His eyebrows shot up.
“The jealous bone silly. I don’t think you have it.”
He shrugged, “I’m perfect. It’s a curse.”
Both of them stopped talking at about the same time. One of the school hotties was walking by and both of them watched his athletic ass go by with equal feigned-casual interest. Then they caught each other and laughed. She covered his hand with a soft, warm palm, “What’s your dad going to say when he finds Read more:Queens
, College
First Time Director 2007-05-13 07:08:56 “I’m not going to quote another filmmaker or studio boss, that is something I’m just not going to do. I’m not going to use Tarantino or Scorcese or Coppola or Oliver Stone or Hitchcock or anyone else to prove a point. Talking about those people in the same breath as my work is like all those tourists who take pictures of themselves alongside fantastic artworks in the Louvre. You’re always going to come up short.”
“This is my first film, why the fuck would I waste my breath talking about legends when I need to talk my own project up. Sure I read a lot of shit and sure I know the quotes but that doesn’t give me license to use them to justify what I’m saying. Truth is I don’t know if the quotes were delivered the way they were meant to be. A million and one things go on during the making of a film. Some of those guys have made twenty or thirty films, maybe more, so they’ve dealt with twenty or thirty million things, all of which might make some sort of sense in a co Read more:First
, Director
, First Time
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