The five smoked and sat on the beach. Between toes, dry sand. Throwing sticks, for the dogs. On the mountain was a giant bat, his huge wings caressing the air. They squinted at the sea as the sunlight swirled amongst them. Eight black boats trailed into view, slow, ominous, but of what tale did they tell? A blue canoe with frozen passengers nervously swung back on it's hind legs. Submarines, they were, distant ants, military. A private demonstration. One of the entourage switched on a portable radio. Journey into the unknown intentions of a stranger's smile. This contemplative feeling breezed right on by, you couldn't quite catch what the singer meant, ephemeral yet comforting, someone joked that he was armed with soft rocks.
"Alright folks, let's wrap it up and go for a break," the director said. The actors made their way out of the red gaffer lines stage left, some stretched their legs on ballet bars, others took a damaged elevator to the ground floor, a melody was played on a wooden piano. The green room was stocked with refreshments. But their clothes and their hair had become riddled with wet sand. The rehearsal studio was quiet, an invisible cobweb awaiting life. Pulsating, silent props. An unused laptop dribbled sound materiel. No one here now, an after event.
