POIA EINAI H KALYTERH SAS TAINIA?

Henry opens his eyes. He sits in a car that shudders and
rattles its way through the underground. On his lap is a book
on the artist Tristan Rêveur.
He pulls a cigarette from a pack and lights it.
Next to Henry sleeps a long-haired TEENAGE BOY wearing a
Walkman: from the headphones we hear "I Shall be Released."
Various subway riders glare at Henry and wave away the smoke,
obviously annoyed that he's polluting their airspace.
A YOUNG WOMAN who wears her blonde hair in dreadlocks sits
across the car, watching Henry.
YOUNG WOMAN
You go to Columbia, right? We were
both in Psych 221. Professor
Matthewson?
(pointing at his book)
You did your oral presentation on
psychosis and Tristan Rêveur,
right?

Henry stares at her as if she's speaking an alien language. A
BUSINESSMAN standing between them, holding onto the metal
pole, wearing a gray suit and carrying an attache case,
shakes his head at Henry.
BUSINESSMAN
No smoking on the train.
HENRY
What?
BUSINESSMAN
(pointing)
Look at the sign, fella. No smoking
on the train.
Henry looks at the sign.
INSERT NO SMOKING SIGN
BUSINESSMAN (CONT'D)
Capeesh? Put it out.
HENRY
Capeesh? Are you in the Mafia?
The businessman leans closer, until his face is inches from
Henry's.
BUSINESSMAN
Put out the fucking cigarette.
Henry slowly rolls his shirtsleeve back from his forearm. The
skin is mottled with fresh burns.
He draws on his cigarette until its point is red-hot, then
stabs it out on the skin of his wrist. He does not flinch.
The businessman reels backward. The dreadlocked Columbia
student's mouth drops open. The people sitting next to Henry
stand and move away.
Henry offers the cigarette butt to the businessman, who waves
his hand at it and moves away, muttering:
BUSINESSMAN (CONT'D)
You ought to be locked up.
HENRY
I am.

ta stroumfakia pianoun?

and the OSCAR goes to .... voodoochild !!!

Congratulations !

v 4 vendetta ... (an kai xtes kateuasa 1 omorfo saw torrent paketaki kai me ta 4 mesa ^^ )

voodoochild έγραψε:

Henry opens his eyes. He sits in a car that shudders and
rattles its way through the underground. On his lap is a book
on the artist Tristan Rêveur.
He pulls a cigarette from a pack and lights it.
Next to Henry sleeps a long-haired TEENAGE BOY wearing a
Walkman: from the headphones we hear "I Shall be Released."
Various subway riders glare at Henry and wave away the smoke,
obviously annoyed that he's polluting their airspace.
A YOUNG WOMAN who wears her blonde hair in dreadlocks sits
across the car, watching Henry.
YOUNG WOMAN
You go to Columbia, right? We were
both in Psych 221. Professor
Matthewson?
(pointing at his book)
You did your oral presentation on
psychosis and Tristan Rêveur,
right?

Henry stares at her as if she's speaking an alien language. A
BUSINESSMAN standing between them, holding onto the metal
pole, wearing a gray suit and carrying an attache case,
shakes his head at Henry.
BUSINESSMAN
No smoking on the train.
HENRY
What?
BUSINESSMAN
(pointing)
Look at the sign, fella. No smoking
on the train.
Henry looks at the sign.
INSERT NO SMOKING SIGN
BUSINESSMAN (CONT'D)
Capeesh? Put it out.
HENRY
Capeesh? Are you in the Mafia?
The businessman leans closer, until his face is inches from
Henry's.
BUSINESSMAN
Put out the fucking cigarette.
Henry slowly rolls his shirtsleeve back from his forearm. The
skin is mottled with fresh burns.
He draws on his cigarette until its point is red-hot, then
stabs it out on the skin of his wrist. He does not flinch.
The businessman reels backward. The dreadlocked Columbia
student's mouth drops open. The people sitting next to Henry
stand and move away.
Henry offers the cigarette butt to the businessman, who waves
his hand at it and moves away, muttering:
BUSINESSMAN (CONT'D)
You ought to be locked up.
HENRY
I am.

Den 3erw agglika

ευκαιρία να μάθεις...

den exei guide pou8ena?