film noir

The clock stopped some years ago at three past midnight. On its dusted surface a picture is reflected, distorted by the rounded shape of its glass cover. Margaret, Pauline, a forgotten name. Who is the person of the picture?
She walks in.

blood runs crazy!
…can even touch the scarlet furniture…
Don’t let him die!

a cold noise spreads out the silence of the empty room.
The sound of long strides echoes from the wet floor. A door opens as the blue and red light penetrates the still stage.

The sun-glasses cover her gaze like the perfect mask. “How d’I know I trust you?” The words fall dry through the telephone line. She sucks once more her menthol cigarrette, exhalate the flavoured smoke, breath in, breath out. No answer.