Evidence
"Sarah". Not a question.
"OK". Not an answer.
Darkness highlighting a sparkled eyeshadow. And John, still silent, thoughts darker than the bar.
"It's just a few blocks from here", the question unasked.
Music now. Tall thin blonde emotions all on the outside singing over bass. Right to the center.
Nothing extra.
Lyrics from places she couldn't have been, about things she couldn't have done.
"What's that you've got?".
One possible dialogue.
"It's a memory machine".
"And.."
"The more of myself I put into it, the more other people get out of it."
"Your pastime?".
Another.
"Keeps me (and here glasses cold, dark with liquid) out of". Glasses tipping.
"Yeah. Trouble". A small laugh from John.
Then we made some memories.