Schroeder knocks on the door. There is a long wait and a silence. We can see Schroeder’s breath in the morning air and we can see that his breath is uneven and he’s just about to knock again when the door opens, taking him by surprise and bringing our seven hours and fifteen minutes of waiting to an end. Natalie Gorgeous is standing in the doorway, in a black dress, with her hair down and her eyes as lively and intense as they have ever been and she looks at the camera, as only she can – somewhere between nothingness and the knowing of everything.

And then, just as her eyes catch the camera, in the micro-seconds of our knowing once again her gaze, after so many years, after so many hours, the film begins to fade, slowly at first and then more rapidly, so that, in a count of three seconds she is gone, never to be seen again, not ever, ever, ever. And we are left with the voices of Schroeder and Rogers, explaining who they are and why they have come, voices that also fade out, as the credits roll in a rich black and blankness that is only an absence of Natalie Gorgeous.

APPENDIX

Natalie Gorgeous b 1946 d 1996

FILMOGRAPHY

A full filmography of Natalie Gorgeous will be added in a later edition.

Crude Laverne b1947 d

At the time of writing Crude Laverne is still alive and living in Occupied London with her husband and two children from a previous marriage.

A full filmography of Crude Laverne will be added in a later edition.

German Fokker

German Fokker

When great chart fame and fortune came to the talentless crooner Fokker in his 25th yr his whole life took on that dire air and weight of bad pop video, all things done cheap and surreal. Living in Manchester, Endland (sic) his girls wer anorexic would-be sphinxes, his house was full of pigeons, doves or waterfalls and each nite before he slept mixed-race blokes in silver jump-suit type outfits would mouth glistening incomprehensible words on top of a brite green hill near his housing estate.

Of course the bastard council sent people round, complaints abt noise and animal treatment, and a poxy lawsuit followed with some fans what had written Fokker’s name and album title on the pavement outside his door. Managers and agents hassled Fokker, calling him up all time when he just wanted to sleep and go down in slow motion with his mates.