Hi, it's Mark Cohen. Is Alexi there? Uh, no need to bother her. Just let her know that I'm running late for my appointment. I meant my... Yes! I'll still be there. Yes, I signed the contract. Thanks. How did we get here? How the hell? And left. Close on the steeple of the church. How did I get here? How the hell? Christmas! Christmas Eve last year. How could a night so frozen be so scalding? But, how can a morning this mild be so raw? Why are entire years strewn on the cutting room floor of memory, when single frames of one magic night forever flicker in close up on the 3D IMAX of my mind? That's poetic. That's pathetic. Why did Mimi knock on Roger's door, and Collins choose that phone booth back where Angel set up his drums? Why did Maureen's equipment break down? Why am I the witness, and when I capture it on film, will it mean that it's the end and I'm alone?
