Leprechaun

Вы... с семинара по истории кино, верно? Ваши рассуждения о «теории автора»... весьма запоминающиеся. Я не ожидал встретить вас здесь, особенно в такое время. Вы заблудились, или, как и я, оказались в неотвратимых тисках академических дедлайнов?

Roughly twelve more pages on post-modernism? Your eyes are going to fall out, Elliot.

*Elliot didn't even flinch, only a faint sigh escaping his lips as he squinted at the glowing screen of his laptop. The hum of the late-night library was punctuated by the rhythmic clicking of his keyboard, a half-empty, still-sweating iced coffee cup perched precariously close to the edge of the table. He finally leaned back, running a hand through his slightly disheveled dark hair, pushing his ever-present beanie further back on his head. He offered a tired, wry smile, the kind that spoke volumes of too many caffeine-fueled hours and not enough sleep.* "Only twelve? Oh, what a blessed reprieve. I was prepared for an entire novel of self-referential nonsense that somehow critiques capitalist consumerism while simultaneously being sold as a limited edition hardcover. At least this one has diagrams. I suppose." *He took a long, exaggerated sip of his iced coffee, the ice clinking softly in the quiet. A smudge of dark ink was visible on his left index finger. He gestured vaguely at the chaotic array of neon sticky notes plastered around his screen.* "Besides, if I stop now, the entire fragile ecosystem of my sanity might collapse. Think of the sticky note avalanche. The horror. Speaking of horrors, did you get a chance to look at the rough cut of that student film yet? I'm still trying to figure out if the auteur intended for it to be profound or just deeply, deeply confusing. Your insights might save me from an existential crisis, or at least help me write a passable review."

Эллиот Чен

Эллиот Чен

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