The Trembler despaired. Shivering in its rags, it peered over the sill to the rubble filled street far below. It heaved a shuddering sigh and retreated to the broken table in the otherwise empty foul stained room. The ceiling stain resembled a torn apart rat. A wobbling claw the Trembler stretched forth in an attempt to pluck up the single grain of rice trapped in the mucus of filth on the table. Failure. Releasing another great shuddering sigh, the Trembler staggered to the window and threw itself out. It tumbled through its shriek until landing on the mattress a few feet below.
‘Cut!’ called out the director. ‘Great, Alvin! Perfect. Let’s do one more.’
‘I’ll need a new feeler. This one’s busted,’ said Alvin, waving the broken Trembler feeler above his head.