A dusty clock repair shop. The walls are covered in ticking timepieces. Time: Late afternoon. Golden light cuts through the dust. [SCENE START]
I’m not going there to fix gears. I’m going to paint. I’m going to move. Everything in this room just... repeats. 7.2 210 Drama
(Slamming a small screwdriver onto the bench)Repetition is precision! You think your "art" is better because it’s messy? This watch belonged to a man who crossed the Atlantic. It kept his pulse when everything else was sinking. A dusty clock repair shop
I’m leaving tomorrow. For the residency in Berlin. I came to say goodbye. Golden light cuts through the dust
And now it’s in a box. In a shop. In a town where nothing happens.
(Without looking up)You’re breathing too loud, Clara. It throws off the balance.
[CLARA walks to a large grandfather clock in the corner. It is silent.]