Prop King Dom
The next day, Prop King Dom shows you the set for the packrat sage scene. He’s grinning as you take it in.
“Whattaya think?”
It looks like a madwoman ate China and vomited it into a shitty studio apartment. You wonder where he got half this stuff, you wonder if he added the dust to it, or if it was always there. It wouldn’t surprise you at all if he’d added the dust.
“It looks good,” you say, and mean it. You pinch out your cigarette and give Prop King Dom a Look. His grin goes about two teeth wider on each side.
“Throw it in there. Me’n the crew’ve been throwing our butts in all night.”
You toss in there. It ricochets off a Buddha’s head and lands between a geisha’s porcelain tits.
It took him an hour and change to assemble the set. An hour and change to assemble it all from scratch. Never mind that the audience won’t take in half of it, not even the Easter Egg fetishists and pause button junkies. He went the extra mile anyway, just to make it real.
And while they won’t catch half the details, they’ll smell the real coming off the set, even in the theatres.
Shit like this, you think with a smile, is why Prop King Dom is Prop King Dom.
