He shouldn’t have done that! – Nasha protests.
They are walking down Plymouth Boulevard, towards Beverly.
preoccupied with the story. Beats thinking about what makes him bleed in
the middle of the night.
preoccupied with the idea of dying in a foreign land. Only that with all
the books and movies, and music they’ve grown up on, America is hardly
a foreign land. To die in America is like to die on TV, there’s always
a hint of hope you’ll get resurrected in the next sequel, that death
is not a final thing, it’s just a drama-enhancing tool, it’s not
like in the real world. He laughs to himself remembering how, when they
had just arrived here, they expected a title song of the soundtrack to
play every time they would walk out of their apartment. And every time
someone would speak to them they would look for a subtitle floating in
Excuse me, what time is it? – a young Mexican approaches them. Nasha
wiggles her hands, they don’t have time.
Oblak smiles like a drunk, he doesn’t understand - where are your subtitles, kid?
Okay, this is a stickup, now empty your pockets! – the youth flashes
an obviously fake, plastic pistol. Or is it?
What do you mean? – Nasha is ready to start an argument, but Oblak
quickly produces their only wallet.
Is that all? – the boy wants to know.
Is that a real gun? – Oblak wants to know.
Now don’t make me use it – the boy reaches to check Nasha’s
pockets – Is that all?
Hey, don’t touch her? – Oblak finally manages to get angry – You
have our money now fuck off!
What d’you say? – the boy flashes his toy again.
Don’t point that thing at him! – Nasha screams, and at the same
moment an elderly Japanese gentlemen pushes the garbage bin from his
back yard out to the street. The boy starts to run.
Thief! Stop him! – Nasha screams, the two of them stand there,
watching their wallet being carried away, in it their library cards, a
discount card from New Beverly Cinema worth two more shows, and an ATM
card for an empty bank account.
- What are we going to do now?