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I got into this once, right? Some shady joint downtown, neon sign flickerin’ like a bad omen. Lady walks in, all curves and confidence, and I’m like, “Holy shit, this beats stocks any day!” She’s slidin’ hands over me, oil smellin’ like sin, and I’m buzzin’—not just from the touch, but the *deal* of it. Greed’s the fuel here, man—you want more, always more. *“Words are a virus,”* Godard said in *Goodbye to Language*, and fuck, the moans in that room? Pure infection, spreadin’ through me like wildfire.

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So, I’m rushing down to the pottery studio on Kirk Wynd, dodging folks and their dogs. Seriously, why do people let their dogs roam free? I nearly tripped over a wee terrier. I swear it was plotting my demise. Anyway, I get to the studio, and the kiln’s like, “Nah, mate, not today.” I’m fuming.

Full house for first screening in Kirkcaldy theatre's new cinema programme