The pale moon appears
The shadows curl ‘round
A restless child I run
Dark hands pry, Walls close in
My heart falls prey
Almarilla indicates a small stool so Harry sits down with his guitar. An art student places a whisky bottle with an X on it in front of a faux stone. The director tells Harry to stretch out his legs so that one foot will rest in front of the bottle. “Bend the other one back a little,” he requests. When Harry realizes his club foot will be on display he begins to protest.
“Shoot me from the other side.” But when Amarilla appears to be exasperated, Harry suddenly relents. “It’s okay. Ole. Ole. Ole. Let’s get on with it.”
Whether he took compassion on the crew or realized his right profile for handsomer, I will never know.