New Routine: A San Francisco Tragicomedy
Ext. Day. San Francisco. Folsom Street. Pan down a beautiful tree-lined block, Victorian houses looming on either side. The camera glides toward an ugly, two-unit building from the 1970s. We enter it through a second-floor window. Int. Day. Bedroom. PASSIONATE ANASTASIA, mid-thirties, tangled mop of curly hair, horrible posture, is hunched over a laptop on her bed with no back support.