blues in midnight motel

winding roads. a tensed driver. a seductress in the backseat.she seems aloof. the binoculars spy the vehicle. the old crimson spitfire stops for gas.the man and women, for sleep. the silhouettes move on the blinds to the rustle of the tuning radio. the eyes of the seductress looks right into you. as if she knows she is being filmed. a look which sends the audience into confusion. the theater breaks into a roar in slow motion.a mechanical clap.everyone follows someone.a collective rhythm.a mysterious starkness.the curtains bounce to the beat of this clap.the seductress sits amongst the crowd with a camera.muted colours.but the white gown of the seductress shines bright. pure white.red lips.blood stains.she shoots herself with the camera.is it a suicide? cut..the directors sways to mark his command. the crew steps forward. its an all blond crew with long hair.they start packing