• Episode 5: Are You Watching Closely?

    Credits and Transcript

  • Episode 5 - "Are You Watching Closely?" - Credits


    Written and Directed by Gabriel Urbina.

    Script Editing by David K. Barnes.
    Performance by Zach Valenti as Larry Holt.
    Original Music by Alan Rodi.

    Sound Design by Zach Valenti.

    Produced by Sarah Shachat, Zach Valenti, and Gabriel Urbina,

    along with Angel Acevedo, Jenn Schneider, and Amy Tanguay.

    Episode 5 - "Are You Watching Closely?" - Transcript



    Announcer: The following episode contains discussions of death and emotionally abusive parent-child relationships, as well as an instance of body horror. Listener discretion advised.


    [Unseen opening credits music plays.]

    Announcer: Long Story Short Productions presents... Unseen.


    [Unseen Theme continues playing.]


    Announcer: Episode Five. Are You Watching Closely by Gabriel Urbina.


    [Music fades.]


    [The clatter of glasses and silverware and the ambient sound of dinner party conversation.]


    [The host, Larry, taps his glass three times, and the guests gradually go quiet.]


    LARRY: All right... I suppose we should get this started. I want to thank you all for coming - some of you from very far away - to be here tonight. I mean, we even got some of the New Yorkers out here, and they don't come to the Bay Area unless it's a matter of life and death.

    [Polite laughter from some of the guests. Musical score starts to fade in over the following:]


    LARRY: Umm, you'll have to pardon me if my hosting duties aren't completely up to snuff. I have to admit, I'm a bit rusty at it. I haven't had to deal with this many people over since... well, since three years ago. For the reception. After the... um, the funeral. After the funeral.


    [He clears his throat.]


    LARRY: Anyway. I think most of you already know me, but just, um, in case: Hi. I'm Lawrence. Err, no. No, I'm not. Sorry. I'm Larry. Lawrence is the name my father called me. But, uh, in any case. Larry. Yes. I'm the son. Anyway, I thought I ought to say a few words. You know, before we get started with the main event. I was thinking that, uh... I...


    [He goes quiet for a beat.]


    LARRY: Uh, sorry. Sorry. Everything just went... kinda blank for a second there. I guess we can all see why I work an office job instead of public speaking, right?


    [Some polite laughter from the guests.]


    LARRY: It's funny. You... you ever have one of thoughts that you just... couldn't get out of your head? Like... an ear worm? Or that memory of the day in High School when you tried to ask Jill Katz if she wanted to out with you, but before she could even answer you realized it was all a terrible, terrible idea, and so you tried to turn around and run away, but instead you tripped and fell and split your pants? We've all got that memory, right, it's not just me? Okay, good. I was worried for a moment then. But, these things, they have a way of popping into your head at the worst times, don't they?


    Like... you're just going about your day, minding your own business. Maybe you stop at a coffee shop to get a small Americano, but then you feel a little hungry, so you ask how much the banana muffin costs, and the cashier says it's five dollars, and you think, "That's a little more than I'd like to pay for a muffin, but on the other hand, remember the way Jill tried to help you up but you could see that she was trying so hard not to laugh? Because I remember.


    [He sighs]


    LARRY:  And well, sometimes you get one of those things stuck in your head and... well, it like it isn't even your thought, you know? It's something you heard somewhere, or that someone told you once, and it just... stays in there. Bouncing around. And then, when you least expect it, it's like... boom. It just muscles its way to the front. Like the thought has a mind of its own.


    [The score fades out.]


    LARRY: I was eleven when I first tried to do magic. Both of my parents were magicians, so I got the help I needed to get past the Caul when I was very little. But actually doing magic? That was up to me. And so I was sitting in the middle of the living room, going over this... Baby's First Spellbook my mom had got me, trying to figure this wind incantation. And I'm just... not getting it. I'm waving my arms. I'm doing the gestures. I'm saying the words. I'm... trying to focus my mind, or unfocus my mind, I'm still not clear on which is the one that helps with Persuasion, and...


    [He blows a raspberry.]


    LARRY: I'm not getting anywhere. But I'm persistent. I keep hammering away at it. I do the gestures. I say the words. I try again, and again. And then, I hear this voice over my shoulder. My father. And he just says:


    LARRY (imitating his father): "Well? Are you going to do it? Or is this going to be another thing you give up on?"


    [Larry sighs]


    LARRY (normal voice): Anyway - the reason I just took that little detour was because I just had one of those moments. When I said I was going to say a few words. Sure enough: boom. Right to the front.


    LARRY (imitating his father): "Well? Are you going to do it? Or is this going to be another thing you give up on?"


    LARRY (normal voice): Thanks, Dad. But... to answer the question he so brusquely asked back in nineteen- ninety-nine: I am going to do this. I am going to say a few words. 


    [Musical score begins over the following:]


    LARRY: So, yes: the man of the hour. My father. The great magical painter, Vincent Holt. Have any of you not seen one of my dad's paintings? In person, I mean, not, like, pictures of them. Anyone?


    [A rustle as a hand goes up.]


    LARRY: Really? Really? Wow. Well, Mr. Cole, you're, uh... you're really missing out.


    [Some laughter from the guests.]


    LARRY: See, there's there's two kinds of magical art. One is just... well, regular art, but a little gussied up. Paintings with a bit of glamour woven into them. Just a shot to make the reds a little redder, the blues a little brighter, that sort of thing. Real showy - and real eye- catching, but... it's all surface. And it fades fast. But behind door number two? That's where things get more interesting. That's where you get paintings that are... well, spellbinding. You look at them and you're just... transported. And you don't take them in through your eyes, or not just with your eyes. They go straight to the mind, and they fill you up with a feeling. Or a thought. A sense of a place. Or a time. I guess what I'm saying is that these paintings really paint a goddamn painting.


    [Laughter from the guests.]


    LARRY: They also sell for, I believe the technical term is... a gigantic crapton of money. Hence, this lovely home in one of San Francisco's hippest neighborhoods. I tell you, growing up here... There's a lot of memories bound up in these walls. See, right over there? That's where my father used to have his drafting table. He'd sit there for hours on end, filling up his sketchbooks. And over there? That's where he used to hang up whatever new piece he'd just picked up at a Sausalito auction. Oh, yes, he was a collector too. It was very important for him that everyone know about his excellent taste. And over there, oh this is my favorite... that's where I used to sit, waiting in vain for any scrap of parental affection, or attention, or just an acknowledgement of my lonely, miserable existence. 


    [Larry laughs amid an awkward silence]


    LARRY: Oh, what? Was that too much too quickly? Sorry, I never quite know when's the best moment to drop the whole... "Yeah, Vincent Holt may be the Unseen World's favorite bad boy artist, but he was an awful father" bomb. It's - it's fine, really. It is. People like my father? People who walk around with that "aura of genius?" Who only get more interesting and - allegedly - more charming the more difficult they are? The more they push people away? That stuff's like... cologne.


    [Musical score begins to fade out]


    LARRY: It's so easy to convince yourself that it's a nice smell, not just a strong one. But sooner or later your realize... the only reason it's there is to get noticed. And then? Well... you kinda start to wonder what stink it's there to cover up, you know? So, with all of that said, why don't we get on with it?


    [He clears his throat]


    LARRY: My father has been dead to me for the past eleven years. He didn't do anything dramatic. He showed up at all the places and all the times he was supposed to. But only just. And when he ducked out of my college graduation -


    LARRY (muttered): summa goddamn cum laude, by the way, no big deal or anything -


    LARRY: - just to check out a gallery opening? Not even his gallery, just a gallery?


    [Larry laughs, bitterly.]


    LARRY: That was it. That was the moment that stank.


    [Larry shudders and breaths heavily to clear his head.]


    LARRY: Now, certain people... who I call traitors... thought I was being too harsh. They asked questions that had very hurtful words in them, like abandonment. And pettiness. I countered these questions by acquiring new, better people in my life, ones who understood who had actually done the abandoning in this tale... and that sometimes pettiness is underrated. But that doesn't matter right now. As my small battalion of therapists have repeatedly told me -


    LARRY (sing-song, rote cadence): this is not about villains or victims. It's just about imperfect, hurt people hurting other imperfect people. And since no one is perfect, the healing process shouldn't be about assigning blame -  


    LARRY (quick, slightly muttered): - no matter how much of a cold, demanding, egotistical son of a bitch one of those people may be.


    LARRY (normal voice): But yeah, sure. No victims here. It's not that kind of story. Is it hard to completely cut your father out of your life, I hear you ask? Well, I'm here now, so that's kind of your answer right there. But yes, it's hard. It was very hard at first. Then, three years ago? It got easier. That is, of course, when he went from being dead to me to being kind of... generally dead to everyone. It was a weird day. When I found out. I mean, I don’t think anyone has a stunningly normal experience of finding out their estranged father has abruptly passed away. But mine was... especially strange. I was living up in Seattle at the time, working as an assistant to this magician up there. It’s never too hard to find a job when you can make it past the Caul, even if you can’t do any magic yourself. Big, important people always need someone who can see things the way they do.


    [Musical score begins to fade in over the following:]


    LARRY: I was having one of those days. It was cold and rainy and foggy, and I had to go all over the city. Meredith - that’s, uh, that was my boss - she needed her dry-cleaning picked up. Which, by the way, it’s always been wild to me what magicians can and can’t do. Like, this woman can walk on air. She is not constrained by the laws of gravity! But she still needs to get her pants suits done at Tower Cleaners because... I guess soap suds just don’t speak to her the same way? Magic is weird, man.


    So I go and I pick up the dry cleaning, when suddenly - ring, ring. It’s Meredith. She’s just realized that they’re out of mercury, and she needs it for some hermetics demonstration she’s doing that afternoon. So now I’ve got to number one: drop off the dry-cleaning, number two: pick up some mercury. Okay, that’s fine, not a problem, Larry the Assistant is on it. So I haul ass halfway across the city, but then... ring, ring. Meredith again. They called from the auto shop, and her car’s detailing is done, so could I pick it up and drive it to her apartment? And in my head I’m going, “Woman, you can fly. Like, you and the bird population of Seattle can exchange aviation tips. You never need to get stuck in traffic, ever. Why in the name of God do you have a car?”


    Of course, what I actually say is, “You got it!” So I have to one: drop off the dry-cleaning, two: grab some mercury, three: pick up her car. I’m on it. No, wait, hang on, she’s texting me now. An important client of hers is on the line and just told her that they’re coming to the city, so I need to book a hotel room for them. Somewhere merfolk-friendly. Okay. Okay, got it. New list. Number one: book a... huh, no. Number one: research what it means for a hotel to be merfolk-friendly. Number two: book a hotel room. Number three: drop off the dry cleaning. Number four: pick up the - ring, ring. “Hi Meredith, what do - what’s that? Get you that new book on wonder-working? From the occult library up in Windermere? All the way across town? No problem, I’m on it.” Number one: research, two: hotel, three: dry cleaning, four: mercury... although maybe the book is more important? It’s definitely more important than the car, since again: she can fly. But maybe I can - ring, ring, holy crap, is she calling again? What, Meredith, what do you need now?


    [A small pause, musical score ends.]


    LARRY: Except it wasn’t Meredith that time. It was my mother. To let me know that my father had just passed away suddenly and unexpectedly in a magical art-related accident.


    [Another small pause]


    LARRY: There was a long silence after that. Like she was expecting me to say something. So I just said... Okay. And then I hung up. And you might think, friends, that I had one of those moments where I just stopped. And everything that I had been doing just seemed so banal and stupid and meaningless.


    [Musical score begins again]


    LARRY: But... nah. That would have been doing a disservice to years of therapy. So I got back on the Central Link. Back to my to-do list. One: research. Two: hotel. Three: dry- cleaning. Four: wait a minute, did she say magical art-related accident? What the hell is a magical art-related accident? No, never mind, I don’t care. Five: mercury. Six: oh God, there’s going to be a funeral. Am I going to have to go to the - ugh, that’s not going to be good for anyone. I should call Dr. Chambers. Seven: call your therapist, remember to call your therapist, this is why you have a therapist, because we don’t deal with these things on our own, that’s falling back on familiar, destructive patterns. Eight: ...something about a... car? Ah, who can remember? Nine: did I just tell my mom “okay” when she called me about her husband of thirty-nine years passing away in a magical art-related accident? That’s not okay, is it? It’s probably not okay. I should call her back! Well, not call her back. But I should send her something. A message. Or flowers. And flowers. A message with flowers.


    [He takes a slow, deep breath. Musical score ends.]


    LARRY: I spent the next three hours riding Seattle’s mass transit system, putting together the short, snappy yet heartfelt message that arrived at my mother’s front door the following morning. I stressed how sorry I was for her loss. Her loss. I was fine. The man had been dead to me for eight years already. I like to think she appreciated it. By the time I remember the rest of my to-do list, both the library and the alchemical supply shop were closed, and I’d somehow misplaced two of the pants suits I’d picked up at the dry cleaners.


    [Larry chuckles and sighs - what a day.]


    LARRY: Vivisecting alchemical osmosis, by the way. Just in case you were curious. It took them a while to figure out what exactly had happened, never mind what to call it, but... that’s what they settled on at the end of the day. Vivisecting alchemical osmosis. That’s how you die in a magical art- related accident, apparently.


    LARRY (rolling his eyes): Vivisecting alchemical osmosis. Pfft.  


    LARRY: See, the way my father worked, he would hermetically dissolve these items into the canvases he painted. Like, if he wanted to paint a beach or something, he might take... I don’t know, some sand, and a conch shell, and a little bit of ocean water. And he’d use magic to break it down, right down to the molecules. And they’d go into the painting. That was part of the secret, to why his paintings felt so real. There really was a little bit of the world in them.


    Of course, the key was that he only put some of what he was painting into it. If he was making a beach, he didn’t put in the sticky kelp, or the jellyfish that stings you the second you dip your toe in the water, or the second-degree sunburn you get even though you practically bathed in sunscreen. None of that went in. It was... life’s greatest hits. Everything else got shaved off. Now, you, a sensible person, might ask, “Well, hang on a second, might magically breaking down the very bonds that hold bits of the world together be dangerous?” To which the answer is: yeah, no duh. Over and over, people told him he shouldn’t be doing this himself. He should really be working with a guild-sanctioned hermeticist. Someone who actually knows this stuff. But he just went -


    LARRY (imitating his father): “It’s fine, it’s fine. I know what I’m doing.”


    LARRY (normal voice): And everyone else just went, “Okay! Just be careful. This sort of thing could kill you one day."


    [Larry scoffs, musical score begins]


    LARRY: It’s wild, the things we think are okay, just because we grow up around them. If your entire life, you saw your dad going up to a tiger, slapping it across the face, and stealing its food, you might think, “Well... I guess that’s just something my dad does.” You might not realize just how narrowly they’re avoiding death every time they do it. Until, all of a sudden... you realize it. Sooner or later, the tiger’s gonna tiger. Nobody knows exactly how he messed up. Maybe he just got the formulas wrong. Maybe he added too much energy to the mix. Maybe he was just drunk off his ass.


    LARRY (mocking voice): Don’t drink and magic, folks - we already lose too many people every year.


    LARRY (normal voice): Whatever it was, something went wrong. He’d wanted to paint the Embarcadero. He’d been wanting to do it for ages. Something that captured both sides of the place, the Seen and the Unseen Worlds - 


    LARRY (mocking voice): - walking in parallel through the same streets.


    [Larry audibly shudders, again]


    LARRY (normal voice): Cities were difficult. For my dad. He used to talk about it all the time. What do you put into a painting to capture the soul of a city? Is it a kind of stone? A kind of metal? A flower? A smell? How do you pick a perspective for something that... well, everyone has a perspective on? Well for reasons that were clear only to him, my father decided that the thing to do it, the thing that would bring it all together was... fish. Yep. Goddamn fish. A salmon, specifically. Nope! I don’t get it either. And he... didn’t exactly get a chance to explain his thinking on that one.


    The last of the fish had just gone into the canvas when suddenly... well, something went wrong. You know that feeling when your fingers go a little tingly? It’s not pain, it’s just... like tiny ants are running over the surface of your skin? So you try to get a look, and


    [Larry makes a couple grunting noises]


    LARRY: - well, that’s strange, why can’t you take your hand off the canvas? And so you frown, and you think to yourself, “What in the...?” But you don’t finish that thought, because that’s when your ring finger dissolves into a small cloud of flesh-colored dust that settles on the canvas for just a second before it sinks down into the pure, clean, awaiting white.


    Your wedding ring makes this little clink sound as it lands on the ground, since, hey, the finger that was holding it up isn’t there anymore, but you don’t hear it. You’re too busy screaming, because you are realizing how bad this is, and oh god, it’s getting faster, now half your hand is gone and - oh wait, yep - there’s the pain. Your body must actually be registering the way it’s being magically shredded into nothingness by now, so every nerve ending in your body is screaming at you to do something, for God’s sake. And so you try, you really, really try -


    LARRY (strain audible in his voice): but this damn thing is like quicksand, the harder you pull, the faster you’re getting sucked in. And every time you try to pull back, you see more bits of you get pulled off, more and more of the dust that you are very rapidly returning to is rising up into the air before it gets sucked into the canvas. You know, it’s like -


    [Larry makes a grunting, straining noise of effort]


    LARRY: Whoops, there went your shoulder.


    [Larry makes another desperate grunting noise]


    LARRY: That’s half your hair.


    [One more grunting noise]


    LARRY: Whoops! And now your chest is bubbling away into nothingness. And around here you stop screaming, not because you want to stop, but because there’s not enough of your mouth still left in a mouth-like shape for you to be able to scream. And your mind is racing, racing to think of how to stop this, of anything you can do to stop this, even as you are dimly aware of your ribcage falling away and your heart starting to dissolve. But no matter how hard you try, all you can think of is, Oh God, it’s getting even faster, as your face is pulled in towards the canvas, and you can’t even think anymore, because what’s left of your body doesn’t feel like a single thing anymore - it feels like a thousand tiny, spindly things. And so the last thought that you have is that, my god, you’re so close to the canvas now that you can’t see anything else - which is honestly par for the course, since you can feel your eyes starting to lose their shape - so it’s just... white. Just endless white, forever and ever. You know that feeling?


    [A beat, the musical score ends.]


    LARRY: Well... my father knew that feeling. He knew it pretty well. There wasn’t much left of him - most of his left leg and right foot were still there, but the rest of him was just... well... blank. You know, it’s funny. I can’t tell you how many times when I was a little kid, my dad would walk through the house, see me watching television, and give me this look like I was this big. And he’d always say:


    LARRY (imitating his father): “I can’t believe you. Just sitting there. When here I am, slaving away, pouring my literal blood, sweat, and tears into my art!”


    LARRY (normal voice): Every time, he said it that way. Literally. Literally. It used to bug the crap out of me. I’m more okay with it now. Now that, you know, one of his paintings has his literal blood, sweat, and tears - not to mention a whole bunch of other things - in it.


    [A small pause.]


    LARRY: What? C’mon, it’s okay. I’m the neglected, psychologically warped child - I’m allowed to make these jokes, you’re allowed to laugh at them. 


    LARRY (more deflated): I know, I know: no villains, no victims in this story. It’s just... life. Until it isn’t. Then it’s the other thing. I’m sorry, I’m... I’m getting off- topic. Let me just, uh...


    [Shuffling as Larry scans through his notecards]


    LARRY (under his breath): Let’s see, let’s see... what’s the next thing I...


    [The shuffling stops.]


    LARRY (normal voice): Ah. Yes, right, right, right, right. Okay, back on track.


    [Larry clears his throat.]


    LARRY: When I was nine, I asked my father why he liked painting. Why this is what he wanted to do his life. And that was, I think, the only time my dad ever looked at me like I was worth the trouble of hiring a nanny to raise me. And you know what he said? Because we’re all... connected.


    We’re all connected. All of us. There are these forces that work... around us, with us, through us. And they change the way we work, the way we walk, the way we buy and sell and gives gifts on people’s birthdays. Even the way we think. They even change what we think.


    [Musical score begins over the following:]


    LARRY: And folks, I didn't like my father a lot by that point, but that was the first time I went, “Oooooh. He’s crazy.


    [A couple laughs from the guests.]


    LARRY: And I think he saw it on my face, how I wasn’t buying it. And then he told me something I’ve never forgotten. He said, no really, he means it. There are forces out there that put things in our heads. And if I don’t believe him, pay attention to this: Are you watching closely? Are you watching closely?


    How many people in the Unseen World say that phrase? Over and over again. Every time they can. Hell, even when it doesn’t make any sense! It’s like -


    LARRY (putting on a sad-sack accent): Hello, welcome to Steve’s Magic Diner, do you know what you’d like to order today?


    LARRY (putting on a prim accent): Are you watching closely? Because I’d like to have the French onion soup.


    LARRY (normal voice): It’s like... what is going on?​ But... he wasn’t wrong. That’s there. And knowing about it doesn’t stop it. I still say “Are you watching closely?” all the time, I can’t help myself. Someone, or something, put that out in our collective subconscious, and who knows how many years later, it’s still echoing out of our mouths. And I gotta give it to my narcissistic old man. He was right about that one. Not all our thoughts are our own. And once he realized that... he wanted to be one of the people putting these thoughts out into the universe. He thought, “Hey... maybe I can send out some good echoes.”


    I think about that a lot. Because you know what he wanted to call that last painting? The one that killed him? “Are You Watching Closely?” Pretty eerie, right?


    [Musical score ends]


    LARRY: Umm, and well, there’s not much to tell after that.


    [Larry sighs]


    LARRY: My father, who had been dead to me for a very long time, passed away. I didn’t get anything in the inheritance, of course. He left it all to my mother. But she didn’t hang around much longer after he left. I think maybe she didn’t know what to do without someone to yell at her all the time - and that she could yell herself hoarse right back at. She passed away about eight months ago. And she, wacky prankster that she was, thought it would be a good idea to leave me... well, everything. The house, the studio, the estate, the bank account, the works. And, at first, I didn’t want anything to do with it, but then I remembered... oh right, I’m poor. So, I moved in last March.


    There was this moment, when I was moving in. Movers were bringing in a lot of my stuff from Seattle, and taking out some of my parents’ things. And one of them pointed to this canvas, and it was the canvas, the white canvas for the “Are You Watching Closely?” And he asked me, “What do you want us to do with that one? You want us to take it into storage? Or you could get it framed and mounted if you want...”


    And, you know, I thought to myself, “That painting - that pure, white void of canvas - that’s the thing that killed my father. That thing is the reason why he’s no longer walking, and talking, and being a person out in the world. I am absolutely going to get it framed and mounted on my wall.”


    [Some laughter from the guests.]


    LARRY: And that was the moment, I suppose. The moment I... asked for it. At first, I thought it was just, you know, sense memory. I’d moved back to the house where I’d grown up, it was only natural that I’d start to remember certain things more... vividly. That certain things that had been in black and white for a while were suddenly in technicolor. But it’s more than that. It’s little things. A strong opinion about how a dish is put away here. A burst of anger at something in the news there. All over things I’ve... never cared about. But the longer I’ve been here, the more it’s happened. I’ll blink, and just like that - boom! Something will muscle its way to the front of my mind. A thought that feels old, and lived-in, even though I’ve never had it. Or I’ll consider doing something - anything - picking up a hobby, asking someone out on a date - and suddenly it’s right there:


    [Musical score begins over the following:]


    LARRY (imitating his father): “Well? Are you going to do it? Or is this going to be another thing you give up on?”


    LARRY (normal voice): I introduce myself as Lawrence now. I have never, in my life, thought of myself as Lawrence. And... sometimes, at night, I wake up with a start. My heart racing, because I just had a nightmare... about a pure, perfect white, that stretches on and on and on.


    [small pause.]


    LARRY: You remember that feeling I talked about earlier? With the tingling and the fear and the pain and the dissolving into nothingness? I think I know that feeling. Even though I really, really shouldn’t. My father has been dead to me for a very long time. Three years ago, he actually died. But I think as long as I have this canvas... he’s less dead to me than I need him to be.


    [Expectant pause]


    LARRY: Which is... where all of you come in. See, I’m not an artist. I’m not a painter. Maybe I could have been, but... I’ve got too much stuff knocking around in my head telling me I’m not. But you... you are some of the most accomplished art dealers, collectors, and painters in the Unseen World. All of you worked with my father on multiple occasions... and anecdotal evidence suggests he hated each and every one of you. I trust that, at least for the majority of you, the feeling is mutual.


    [Footsteps as Larry walks away from the table over the following:]


    LARRY: In fact, I’m banking on it. See... I’m hoping that one of you will be able to make something out of... this!


    [The footsteps stop, and with a whoosh, Larry removes a piece of fabric that has been covering a canvas.]


    LARRY: Beautiful, isn’t it? Look at all that pristine whiteness. So, friends, the question before us is this: who among you would like the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to paint over the very essence of Vincent Holt? Who would like to finally turn him into something productive? Who wants to finally cover up the last of his stink? Who is up to that challenge? And how much are you willing to pay for that privilege? Shall we start the bidding at, say... five hundred thousand?


    [A rustle as guests at the table raise their hands.]


    LARRY: Excellent.


    [Musical score ends and transitions to the Unseen Credits music.]


    Announcer: This has been UNSEEN, by Long Story Short Productions, based on an original idea by Gabriel Urbina, with additional conceptual design work by Sarah Shachat. Today’s episode was written and directed by Gabriel Urbina, with script editing by David K. Barnes. It starred Zach Valenti in the role of Larry Holt. Original Music by Alan Rodi, and sound design by Zach Valenti. UNSEEN is produced by Sarah Shachat, Zach Valenti, and Gabriel Urbina, along with Angel Acevedo, Jenn Schneider, and Amy Tanguay. For more information on the Unseen World, please visit Unseen.Show. Thank you for listening.


    [Music fades out.]


    End of Episode.