Where is your heart medium? Luke-warm, unlit wick, spray of perfume. You don’t wear your b.o. on your sleeve--that would be too extraordinary--you ordinary extra in the film about the homeless--bearded and hungry, treating pets loveliest. It’s not a tragedy to the world if you miss your flight to the strawberry festival where the screaming roller coaster zooms above gang fights. It will only be a tragedy to you. Or not.
Why is there no time left to adore each other?