He waits, watching with envious eyes. You’ve only been working on this show for a few weeks, but you’ve seen him spend more time doing it than you’ve seen him ham it up in front of the camera. When you asked the line producer, she just told you to ignore it, that it’s just Guy’s thing, that it means nothing, do your job. But you’re beginning to think it’s more than a habit. There’s something dark down there, beneath those sunglasses. As you watch Guy stare into the food from afar you can’t help but feel that there’s something other than hunger in his heart. Is it lust? Is it… contempt? You suppose it doesn’t matter. Just a few more weeks and you’ll be out of this gig and on to another. But one day he makes eye contact with you as Greg gets shots of the customers. In that moment, he speaks to you. Not with words but with a dark, troubled aura. He presses a finger to his lips. You stay silent. He shifts his mournful gaze back to the food, and you follow suit. You stare at the food. It stares back.
I was at a horse race yesterday when some kid lost his balloon…
There he go