Kodachrome 1.5 Flashcards
Starting monologue
PHOTOGRAPHER: At the diner. This diner has had twenty, maybe twenty-five different owners, and with the owners, different names. It is hard to keep count. People stopped bothering to learn the new name. “The diner,” they say. The Waitress, it seems like, has worked in every version of this diner since it has been a diner. She feels tired enough to have been working there since the town was established - but that was 1698 so of course, no that can’t be true. And of course she is young. Is she young? She is ageless. The Perfume Maker sips her coffee. The Waitress has refilled it at least six times so far.
PM: Today.
PHOTOGRAPHER: She thinks.
PM: Today. After another cup of coffee.
PHOTOGRAPHER: The Perfume Maker has something to say but she is not used to saying things to people. She works alone in silence. When she works, she looks up and she hasn’t eaten. She looks up and she hasn’t slept. The Perfume Maker likes to work. She creates new scents and sells them to companies that make perfumes and sometimes and lotions and sometimes bath gels or soaps. Her nose is valuable and her abilities are more valuable. She is terrible at everything else. The Waitress is a good waitress. The Waitress is not terrible at everything else.
W: Everything okay?
PHOTOGRAPHER: She says. But she thinks -
W: Why are you still here?
PM: I want to touch you.
PHOTOGRAPHER: She thinks. But out loud she says -
PM: Fine. Fine.
PHOTOGRAPHER: And stares at her coffee cup. The Perfume Maker comes to the diner for lunch every day. She sets three alarms so that she will not miss lunch.
W: Need anything else?
PM: No. No. The fries are good today.
W: (Not listening) Yup.
PHOTOGRAPHER: You know that thing when you recognize in another, a spark of something - something you are not and can never be and you want to possess this spark? Some want to crush becomes a flame and then the flame becomes an inferno. The Perfume Maker sees this spark in the Waitress. But she doesn’t know the words to say this.
PM: Good fries.
PHOTOGRAPHER: The Perfume Maker recognizes the scent on her hands, the shampoo she used this morning. She smells the fried food from the kitchen, some ketchup spilled some hours ago, and somewhere underneath all that noise, the scent that is her and only her. She breathes deeply. She is overcome. She tries to tell her something.
PM: I wanted to - can I - um…
W: What?
PM: A spark that when - in the dark - like a small fire -
W: What? I mean - you. For example. When I smell you -
W: When you smell me?
PM: No. I mean. Not - I’m not -
PHOTOGRAPHER: The Policeman enters the establishment.
W: Why hello there, stranger.
POLICEMAN: Not so strange
W: What’s this? Two times in one week.
POLICEMAN: It’s the coffee. No one makes coffee like you do.
W: It’s all in the wrist.
POLICEMAN: We could use a wrist like that on the force.
W: I think I’m much too much for your police force to handle.
POLICEMAN: I can’t argue with that.
PHOTOGRAPHER: They laugh. They laugh. She touched his arm. (take photo) The Perfume Maker has ugly feelings, but they are feelings she knows she has no right to have. She tries not to feel these feelings. She thinks of a smell that will make her feel hope.
PM: Lilac. Coriander. Cinnamon. Spearmint. Coffee.
PHOTOGRAPHER: She takes a deep whiff of her coffee.
PM: I will make her a perfume.
PHOTOGRAPHER: She thinks. A scent just for her, so beautiful she will understand everything she wants to say but cannot figure out how to say. The scent will do it all.
PM: The scent.
PHOTOGRAPHER: She says nothing to the Waitress. Instead, she leaves much too much money and exits without anyone noticing.
