EXT. ZOO — PICNIC AREA — DAY
A bird’s-eye view of a bald bench-sitter. Shadows of branches above.
Now, see—you must tread lightly.
Mind your orientation, secure proper
footing, about-face…and release.
A white blip launches groundward from somewhere off-screen, SPLATS just inches from the bench.
Boy howdy. You’s a natch. Give it a
once more, I’ll’ve a go.
Right. Now you must ALWAYS start
with your knees. They mustn’t slack.
If you allow them to slack, you allow
room for error, for only a stiff posture
rights sufficiently. Now. Trajectory.
Are you familiar with amplitude and pitch?
Haven’t a worry. You shall by day’s
end. You see this position?
A tiny shadow falls upon the head.
The extension of my dorsum and
rightness of my shoulders? Your head
must be elevated but waist shallow,
‘Tain’t the purdiest, but s’pose you’s
already knows. What’s you havin’ yer
feathers like that fer?
The tiny shadow rustles.
Ah. Simple courtesy—and composition
of the spine. To our fortune, with modesty