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text; poor, poor attempt at a private to Mr. Eames
HeEy Eemes I---
end; yeah...that's it
video!
[There's a relatively noisy bar, but it is easily chalked up to the fact that the network device is in someone's hand as he walks from the can. Charlie Feathers grade rock and roll is blasting. There are a few sets of feet on a dance floor. Oops. Almost drops the gadget. Phew. Good save. Now it will be held up higher to prevent that from happening again. The effect is less gut wrenching.]
Mr. Eames. You're a pile of horse shit. Lookit what you're missing.
[It's not the Blue Light, it's another rather less kept establishment. Swaying steps end at the bar.]
Here! Here's our buddy. [Audible pause. He almost says something he shouldn't.] It's [hyuk] Mr.-Mr. Orange. [The man is clearly inebriated too. He waves at the camera which is very much in his face to show freckles on his nose.] What the fuck is wrong with you, why would you wanna miss out? [Teeth! Mr. Orange's teeth. Okay zooming out.]
And over here--[there's a shot glass pyramid in the words that the network device sees for a second] here is Mr. Pink. [Bug eyed and mustachoed Mr. Pink is not so drunk. How nice to not have such a close frame, even when he is speaking:] This is the best fucking use of my time in the past year I've lived in this shithole.
[Whoever is filming, it isn't hard to guess at this point with the usual suspects, laughs. Okay, okay. He shows himself. It's Mr. White! Not surprising. And he is three sheets to the wind.]
Night two, [he holds up two thick fingers like a peace sign grinning like a fool] and you-you're fucking losing out!
HeEy Eemes I---
end; yeah...that's it
video!
[There's a relatively noisy bar, but it is easily chalked up to the fact that the network device is in someone's hand as he walks from the can. Charlie Feathers grade rock and roll is blasting. There are a few sets of feet on a dance floor. Oops. Almost drops the gadget. Phew. Good save. Now it will be held up higher to prevent that from happening again. The effect is less gut wrenching.]
Mr. Eames. You're a pile of horse shit. Lookit what you're missing.
[It's not the Blue Light, it's another rather less kept establishment. Swaying steps end at the bar.]
Here! Here's our buddy. [Audible pause. He almost says something he shouldn't.] It's [hyuk] Mr.-Mr. Orange. [The man is clearly inebriated too. He waves at the camera which is very much in his face to show freckles on his nose.] What the fuck is wrong with you, why would you wanna miss out? [Teeth! Mr. Orange's teeth. Okay zooming out.]
And over here--[there's a shot glass pyramid in the words that the network device sees for a second] here is Mr. Pink. [Bug eyed and mustachoed Mr. Pink is not so drunk. How nice to not have such a close frame, even when he is speaking:] This is the best fucking use of my time in the past year I've lived in this shithole.
[Whoever is filming, it isn't hard to guess at this point with the usual suspects, laughs. Okay, okay. He shows himself. It's Mr. White! Not surprising. And he is three sheets to the wind.]
Night two, [he holds up two thick fingers like a peace sign grinning like a fool] and you-you're fucking losing out!
