Arrivederci! Tom yelps, waving his mangled hand, projector strapped to scooter as he angles off into the juttering night. “Open City” would’ve been our next feature, but our chalet’s been flattened, the errant bomb meant for the red cross clinic one valley over, where Il Duce, it’s rumored, though still hanged, rests and recovers. Tom’s Nurse Nell’s beau: she’s spy, cinephile, assassin, esthete, mender-fixer, and now film star: thirty feet high without the screen, in a costume a cross between a nurse’s and ninja’s, wielding both scimitar and scalpel. Warplanes zoom past, weapon bays closed—the bombardiers salute her.
First published in matchbook.