I am walking rapidly through striations of light and dark thrown under an arcade. I am a woman in the prime of life, with certain powers and those powers severely limited by authorities whose faces I rarely see. I am a woman in the prime of life driving her dead poet in a black Rolls-Royce through a landscape of twilight and thorns. A woman with a certain mission which if obeyed to the letter will leave her intact. A woman with the nerves of a panther a woman with contacts among Hell’s Angels a woman feeling the fullness of her powers at the precise moment when she must not use them a woman sworn to lucidity who sees through the mayhem, the smoky fires of these underground streets her dead poet learning to walk backward against the wind on the wrong side of the mirror.SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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