“I’m from a town nobody knows,” she said. A skinny, blonde cutie sitting behind a table full of tacky prop cookies. “So I just say Niagara Falls.”
Like a reflex, I turn, BNC cable in hand, and say, probably creepily, “Which town?”
“Fonthill,” she says blankly.
“I know where that is,” I smile, then return to work.
What the fuck, man? I hear in my head. It gets them wet when you know geography.
A better response would of been “How dare you?” or “Outsider!”
I’m still trying to shake the old habits. When you’re running around, keeping track of a million things and… nah, that’s an excuse. I’ve been working hard, and slowly, to axe the fake connections. Connections don’t work, as the game gods have deemed.
12 hour days. Extras everywhere. Time to get some practice.