Within an old theater:
The building has seen its share of wear and tear. Watermarks are visible on the ceiling and parts are peeling away like dead skin. The air is thick with the smell of mildew and time. A red curtain hides the stage. It seems to be untouched by age, the only thing that is in this dilapidated building. The seats are the same deep red of that of the curtain adorning the stage. They are mangled and tattered. Stuffing protrudes from some like little scars of time. Others have lost arms, backs, or the seat itself. The mark of time shines greatly in the theater. One light shines onto the stage. A table with an old record player sits in the light. A bald man with a suit enters from the left and walks towards the table. He is carrying a record. He casually puts the record on and begins to walk off stage. The light catches his face and it becomes noticeable that he is blind. A grin forms on his face and that is the last seen before he walks out of the light. A voice breaks in from the record player. The speaker has a British accent almost identical with that of Alfred Hitchcock.
Music to be murdered by, it is mood music in a jugular vein and I hope you like it. Our record requires only the simplest of equipment an ordinary phonograph needle, a four-inch speaker, and a 38-caliber revolver. Naturally the record is long playing even though you may not be, so why dont you relax lean back and enjoy yourself before the coroner comes.
A hip-hop drumbeat begins to play and the light fades out slowly. The place is now completely dark. The beat continues to play. Murmured talking is heard and than a crash almost like thunder breaks in. A distorted scream engulfs the theater. The lights flash on. Youre sitting on your bed staring at the wall. The beat continues
-----------
A lil taste of the minds eye. Finish it if your feeling ambitious.
-----------
Long days, these days. Hardly touch this infernal contraption. I think you have all given up on my ability to keep your intrest. Just a lil self depreciation of my self health. Ok i have no idea what I just said. Whateva. Its cool like my mans Johnny Coltrane. Its blue like my mansCharley Patton. And silly like my mans John Ashcroft.....
ok time to go.
the internet: bringing teenage boys free porn daily.....and girls too, might as well be realistic.
jjay out
The building has seen its share of wear and tear. Watermarks are visible on the ceiling and parts are peeling away like dead skin. The air is thick with the smell of mildew and time. A red curtain hides the stage. It seems to be untouched by age, the only thing that is in this dilapidated building. The seats are the same deep red of that of the curtain adorning the stage. They are mangled and tattered. Stuffing protrudes from some like little scars of time. Others have lost arms, backs, or the seat itself. The mark of time shines greatly in the theater. One light shines onto the stage. A table with an old record player sits in the light. A bald man with a suit enters from the left and walks towards the table. He is carrying a record. He casually puts the record on and begins to walk off stage. The light catches his face and it becomes noticeable that he is blind. A grin forms on his face and that is the last seen before he walks out of the light. A voice breaks in from the record player. The speaker has a British accent almost identical with that of Alfred Hitchcock.
Music to be murdered by, it is mood music in a jugular vein and I hope you like it. Our record requires only the simplest of equipment an ordinary phonograph needle, a four-inch speaker, and a 38-caliber revolver. Naturally the record is long playing even though you may not be, so why dont you relax lean back and enjoy yourself before the coroner comes.
A hip-hop drumbeat begins to play and the light fades out slowly. The place is now completely dark. The beat continues to play. Murmured talking is heard and than a crash almost like thunder breaks in. A distorted scream engulfs the theater. The lights flash on. Youre sitting on your bed staring at the wall. The beat continues
-----------
A lil taste of the minds eye. Finish it if your feeling ambitious.
-----------
Long days, these days. Hardly touch this infernal contraption. I think you have all given up on my ability to keep your intrest. Just a lil self depreciation of my self health. Ok i have no idea what I just said. Whateva. Its cool like my mans Johnny Coltrane. Its blue like my mansCharley Patton. And silly like my mans John Ashcroft.....
ok time to go.
the internet: bringing teenage boys free porn daily.....and girls too, might as well be realistic.
jjay out