“It is dark, dark 7am on Christmas Eve Eve. Silent flurries fall in the city. Actors walking home from a cast party on Broad Street try to catch them on their tongues. The ingénue, landing one on her hot cheek, dissolves into a fit of laughter. In Fishtown a nightmare trebles through the nose and paws of a dog snoozing under construction flats.”
“I love to hear the sound of the doors closing. It signals the beginning of an egocentric and self-indulgent interlude. For the next two hours, nothing can really happen to you. Everything is taken care of.”
“Genevive moved back into the house on a Monday. The place needed a good clean, she had decided, so she found a cleaning service called Aftermath in the phone book. They told her it would take three days to clean the house and that she could not be present..”
