She called,just after midnight and she was

She called,just after midnight and she was crying.Criyng so hard that I had a hard time understanding who she was,but when she said something about fire I knew
it was Trish. Her words were scrambled between tears and deep breathes, but I could understand that her bus was on fire. 40 feet of what she called home was now nothing more
than cinders, twisted metal and a few stray
cats. I adjusted my bowtie and headed toward the cinders. There was nothing
redeeming about the movie "The Tuxedo."
It was, she asserted, quite simply the most stupendously awful piece of cinematography in the history of mankind, if not the universe. I was inclined, I said, to agree, but
I had a SETI transmission from the alien sitcom "Four and a half Cephalopods" and a nickelodeon reel "Ouch my Trousers!" which both had worse cinematography. She said this film
must never be seen again and put a match to it. However, I was able to save a few frames, which I carefully placed with my collection of cinematic rareties salvaged from
some little kids room I burglarized. I looked at the frames I was able to save, one was a nude scene featuring Whoopi Goldberg, I didn't look at the rest. One day I'll look back on
my time in juvenile detention without shame or revulsion. For now I could only reassure myself that my time will come. My time will come.

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