Perch adjusts the 50″ flat screen in his grasp, scared paranoid above anything else of allowing it to touch the sidewalk. The way they make these things now, they’re almost designed to shatter. His mind babbles, groans, mutters.
Pretty girl. Nice dress that shows off her legs. Just below her left knee, on the inside, sits a bruise the size of a dollar coin. Looks like a slightly faded ink spot. Like a slightly overripe banana.
The scene ends and the director yells “Cut!” and the cameras cease filming. The star, a tall and distinguished blonde steps down from the podium and straightens her tailored black suit jacket, releasing a deep and cleansing breath the way her yoga instructor taught her.