A journey that starts out of nowhere usually ends in pitch nowhere. Sometimes it is illuminated by a neon sign anywhere and lets in acrid cigarette smoke through the half-open window, thereby causing the occupant of the room with the window to tirelessly sneeze.
As soon as Tom turned his head a little to the left, he realized that he was nowhere close enough - at arm's length or one ballet step.
Nowhere (and the neon sign, jumping straight out of its mossy fifties, blazing purple red) was named Queen Morgendorffer, and, to his regret, Tom had to admit he was glad to see her.
Not happy enough to call out a name; not happy enough not to smirk at her beret, which she only wore to make herself look more bohemian; not happy enough to whisper to Elsie that that girl over there is Daria's sister, and that he should definitely say hello to her.
Tom glanced at the Renoir print. Renoir's reproduction exhaled its value in Tom's face, and the glass, behind which the reproduction was hiding from prying hands, smeared Tom's cheek with a sunbeam. Despite the gloom that reigned in the hall, thin strips of light, breaking through the dark curtains and looking like bacon, hurried to bite the visitors on the ankles and ankles.
Quinn Morgendorffer was funny back then, and something told Tom that she still was: awkward as a puppy with a big head, but grown a couple of inches.
Tom was sure that Quinn, even if they happened to cross paths, look at each other and talk, it was unlikely that he would ask him about his studies and why he was not doing the mandatory practice for Broomswell students - the key to a successful future.
The uncomfortable bench, which looked like it had been brought into the gallery straight from a nearby Protestant church, more than paid off by being able to watch Quinn while sitting on it. Not that Tom was very interested in her. Not a bench, Quinn.
Daria's sister, the one who arranged gatherings with blush boxes and wild, but stylish in her opinion girlfriends, now froze in front of the original Manet. Tom thought it would be interesting. And let me kill time. Quinn shook her head; the beret moved to the left, exposing a sea shell without signs of the sea - a pinkish ear.
Tom took his wallet out of his pants pocket, opened the change compartment and turned the wallet upside down - the coins rushed away. Quinn turned around. Tom chuckled. Bohemian Queen crumbled into a colorful stained-glass window of smiles.
– Do you find Monet entertaining? Quinn sat down next to her, nodding at the painting.
"Manet is much more entertaining, if we talk about this particular canvas," Tom crossed his legs and looked at Quinn's face. The face remained impenetrable.
"What difference does it make?" Quinn straightened up and tossed her hair over her right shoulder.
- One letter. The pages of the pamphlet rustled. Quinn concentrated on looking for the difference between the two artists.
"I want to invite you somewhere," Tom said casually. - Somewhere where there will be no Monet and Manet.
"And Degas." Quinn's ruby fingernail pointed to the last name, underlined in thin black lines. "Art has a habit of tiring, you know.
Quinn lifted her head and looked Tom straight in the eye.
I'm not surprised by your offer.
- Why?
- I'm coming for you.
The neon sign flickered and went out for a couple of seconds, only to flash purple again a couple of decades later. Funny girl Quinn really grew up, but did not become less funny because of this.
"I still have the same Jaguar," Tom raised an eyebrow, waiting for Quinn's reaction. - Still the same rusty and bug-ridden and moth-eaten rugs. And I'm just talking about the seats.
"Just think," Quinn snorted and put the pamphlet away in her purse, which looked like a cowboy holster without a revolver, generously trimmed with fringe - velvet or corduroy, - and I'm still the same Daria's sister. And it didn't stop you.
"I have my own motives and goals," Tom admitted honestly, anticipating Quinn's offendedly bitten lip.
- And I have one unread detective story and a lot of films about scoundrels who break girls' hearts.
"I won't break your heart, Quinn. The road behind me is already in fragments, - Tom said in the tone of a repentant sinner.
- Another part of the films in my collection of CDs are about girls who crush other people's hearts with their heels.
"I have no heart, little Miss Morgendorffer!" - imitating Upchuck, seen by him a couple of times, announced Tom loudly.
"Then I'll have to work hard to make you suffer, Mr. Sloan.
"I'd be glad to see you try, miss." Lifting his ghostly hat, Tom bowed slightly to Quinn. She folded her arms across her chest and with a movement of her chin asked Tom to stop. "How could I forget what you said two minutes earlier!" Art bores you.
– Theatrical gestures off the stage look insanely vulgar.
- Admit it, Quinn, you stole a couple of smart books from Daria and studied them all your free time until you found out that it was time for you to go to college yourself? Tom tugged at the velvety drawstring of the pseudo-holster, instantly getting lip gloss on his fingers.
I will only let you pick me up if you stop behaving with me like an unreasonable monkey, - Queen got up from the bench and straightened her white blouse, reminiscent of the working outfit of those very impressionists that she did not understand, after which she licked her lips and looked half inquiringly at Tom.
"I promise I won't say anything difficult for you to understand," Tom leaned back on the bench, stretching his legs in sneakers in the direction of Queen's shoes, which turned towards the exit from the hall. - Will you let me be late?
Queen stopped, turned half a turn, which made her seem even slimmer, giving odds to all the phantom and long-departed Fashion Club, and twisted her beautiful mouth with displeasure.
– Charming mademoiselle, I will be with you at five minutes to eight, – Tom's prayerfully folded hands made the proper impression – beret Quinn swam on, bypassing the humble gallery guests, speaking exclusively in whispers and forcing themselves with intelligence, the excess of which could charge batteries a couple of feet further than themselves exhibition halls.
Chuck Berry burst into the half-open window of the motel room, dusting off Elvis' blue suede boots and the records that had settled on the windowsill like a dead weight. No, there is definitely no clear destination that can be reached in a hurry at high speed.
Why are you doing this to her? Elsie rested her chin on her brother's shoulder as she crept silently from behind, like a predatory cat tired of playing in its jungle with vines and carcasses of small rodents.
Tom, without turning around, patted Elsie's hair and said nothing.
"She won't stop at the pizzeria, Tom. I know it and you know it.
"I would say," Tom said, "that for the Quinn I knew a few years ago, the pizzeria was akin to purgatory.
"And Dunkin' Donuts and Burger King must be hell for her.
"And don't forget that in this hell you rarely meet someone who looks stylish enough for you," Tom turned to Elsie and gave her a mocking smile.
"You'll have to try very hard not to return home with bloody hands like Macbeth – the ghost of Banquo, who will be called Queen in a modern production, will not become an interior decoration of a small living room.
"Reread the play, my dear." Tom flicked his sister on the tip of her perfect nose.
"Your underdeveloped sister has only seen the movie, so the advice is no longer needed," Elsie stroked Tom's cheek with mock affection. "On the way home, we will certainly come up with something not too catchy and not too original for your fake date.
Electric light ran through all the floors and stopped in front of the door of the motel room. Startled by the brightness of the neon lights, he climbed into the keyhole and stayed there, perhaps until morning. Or maybe for the next fifty years.
Quinn's appearance showed a casualness that required hours of careful preparation. Tom graciously opened the door of his father's car and offered Quinn his hand.
How is your Jaguar?
"Decided not to ruin your reputation with an indecent car.
- How cute. Where will we go? With a queenly look, Quinn sank into her seat. The cabin smelled of his father's cologne and expensive cigars, overpowered by the smell of leather.
- To a good place.
"I hope a decent place doesn't smell redolent of hot sauce, beef steaks and unwashed socks," Quinn grimaced, buckling up. Safety first, read the Tom on Quinn's forehead. She combed her hair into a ponytail so that not a single hair could even think of escaping.
"It's a very respectable establishment, Miss Morgendorffer. But I can't guarantee that you will like it.
- You go again? Quinn inquired, renewing a layer of gloss on her lips, the brother of the one that struck a well-aimed blow to the phalanges of Tom's fingers in the gallery.
"Let's turn on the music," Tom ignored Quinn's question. Frankie Lane had barely begun to sing, and Quinn had already rolled her eyes. Tom liked it, Tom made the sound louder.
The book lying on the bedside table in the room suddenly came to life. The pages rustled, and the hard cover thudded against the edge of a more than modest piece of furniture. The electric light overcame its fear of the neon sign and peered into the two-dollar publication with keen interest. "Where is your place? There's no such thing!"
"This is a cinema," Quinn said, looking around. We traveled so many miles to watch a movie in the open air. There isn't even popcorn here.
- Don't you look after your body? - Tom took a blanket out of the car and spread it on the ground, trampled down by hundreds, thousands of feet, covered with a calm and brave overgrowth of grass.
- Cinema, I mean a real cinema, an occasion to have fun or a little sadness, and not frantically count calories in a can of cola or a glass of corn.
– Speaking of calorie counting, do you mean that after going to the evening session, you don't eat anything until lunch the next day? - Twilight hid Tom's smile, which flickered for a split second and then disappeared. Cheshire cat, by chance caught in a small a American town, lost among boredom.
"It doesn't matter at all, Mr. Sloan," Quinn neatly straightened her lemon-yellow dress and sat down just as neatly on the plaid. - What are we going to watch?
- Perhaps, - Tom threw a quick glance at Quinn, then turned it to the screen, - we will make sure that Audrey Hepburn does not wrinkle Givenchy dresses.
Quinn pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. Quinn was interested, if not in the film itself, then certainly in the outfits in which the actresses flaunted. Quinn was easy. But, to Tom's surprise, not too easy.
"I can tempt you with a hot dog," Tom looked at her thin wrists, at the shadow of her eyelashes falling on her cheekbones, "if you promise me that this will not be the only food that will be in your stomach tonight.
"You're stopping me from watching the movie," Quinn hissed, turning to face him. – Be kind, wait with conversations at least until the middle of the film. Just look at this guy! He is so manly that you can crack nuts with his jaw!
Tom smiled again and winked at Humphrey Bogart. Quinn's remark was hardly a compliment. As a consolation and encouragement to old Humphrey, Tom mentally saluted his Lieutenant Commander Quig.
The player turned on by itself. From the touch of the needle to the black disk, everything was already habitual walls. Because her kisses are sweeter than wine. Her kisses are tastier than wine... The electric light sparkled intensely and darted towards the faded wallpaper.
- No, - Quinn sincerely resented the ending of the film, - what kind of nonsense is this!
"That she chose the wrong man?" Laughter sparkled in Tom's eyes.
- Of course not! He chose the wrong woman! She absolutely does not suit him.
"I thought you didn't like him." Tom moved closer to Quinn and handed her his sweater. She looked at said item of clothing as if it needed to be cleared of mines within one minute, otherwise their refuge would turn on them and fly into the air.
"I didn't say I liked him. His appearance annoys me, but his character is very sympathetic to me.
"Queen," Tom called her.
- What? - she was distracted from the gloomy drilling of the empty screen with her eyes and looked somewhere through Tom.
- So how many books from Darya's stocks have you read?
– Oh, you're all about it! .. – Quinn rolled her eyes and was about to open her mouth for the next remark, as Tom leaned over and kissed her. Quinn hesitated, and then returned the kiss. Restrained and polite, as if it were an empty formality that required strict observance.
"It was extremely inappropriate and extremely ridiculous," she concluded after Tom pulled away from her. "And I would be grateful if you could take me home." Right now. Otherwise, I will walk. And something is bound to happen to me.
The blackmailer silently pulled off Tom's sweater and handed it back to him. Then she again returned to nasty orders and no less nasty conditions: - I also forbid you to talk to me. One word from you and I'm out of the car.
- What a shame! I was hoping that we would watch another wonderful film from the middle of the twentieth century, - trying to hide the feeling of annoyance that came from nowhere, Tom switched to snickering.
Quinn brushed the invisible lint off her dress and lifted her chin as she sat in the back seat.
Blue and slightly illuminated, like expensive diamonds, the water in the pool snored peacefully until a noise woke her up. The water drowsily circled the motel grounds with all its four tiled banks: the neon sign was definitely the source of the noise. She hissed and shattered light bulbs. Something happened, the water decided. Not here, not now, but somewhere out there, many years later. Peggy Lee's "Fever" blared from the loudspeaker at the exit to the motel. The water curled up more comfortably in a turquoise wave and fell asleep again after a couplet. Until morning. Which will probably never come. I flare up when you call my name and you know how I'm going to treat you.
- No no no! Elsie tightened the waistband of her robe and hung over the railing. "Really, oh my God, Tom, did your copy turn out to be the original?" Elsie took a mint candy out of her pocket, put it on her tongue, and immediately gnawed at the translucent candy with her strong teeth.
- Firstly, she does not talk to me, secondly, she looks like a Pandora's box, thirdly, I'm going to go to bed, leaving idle gossip for later.
"Then it will be too late," Elsie sighed disappointedly.
- Why?
Because then I won't care.
"Are you asking me to satisfy your interest right now?" - Tom irritably climbed the stairs, typing his every disgruntled step into the expensive carpeting.
- It would be nice - I read all the magazines from cover to cover, but there are not many cheap sensations, - Elsie looked up at her brother.
"Mrs. Morgendorffer waved at me. She waved and waved her hands guiltily.
- Why did it happen?
"Probably because when Quinn closed the car door behind her, the whole neighborhood I thought that a gas cylinder had exploded somewhere.
"You must have offended her greatly," Elsie bit off the nail on her ring finger and now looked at the ugly remnants of her former beauty with bitter, like castor oil, regret. Adam's face must have reflected the same emotions at the moment when he realized that the hedonistic lifestyle was over once and for all, but Eve would remain with him until the end of his days.
- Nonsense! I just kissed her, - Tom sank down on the step, put his elbows on his knees and propped his chin on his fists. Do you think it's in vain?
Elsie looked thoughtfully at her ruined manicure. "You're lucky it looks like a Pandora's box and not a box of fireworks and crackers.
"And don't even think of calling her," Elsie warned her brother, "you dial her number and you'll ruin everything completely."
Tom, who had no intention of approaching the phone with such an intention, just chuckled.
- What will I ruin?
All fun, that's what.
- Do you think it's fun to annoy other people and bring them to white heat?
"I think so," said Elsie.
- In my opinion, too, - Tom smiled and stood up. - Goodnight.
Elsie took out the second lollipop and aimed it at her brother: - She will call herself.
- Yes, what are you? Tom pretended to be intrigued. "Why would she do this if she was so offended by my behavior that she didn't even say goodbye?"
"First, you acted like a beast. Secondly, girls like cute brutes, even those who behave like pigs with them. Third, walk away slowly and start counting to ten after offending the girl, and when you reach the number nine, the girl will certainly be behind you. With open arms and hearts instead of pupils.
"Utter nonsense," Tom snorted. You spend a lot of time writing advice columns for teenagers. And too thoughtfully you study supposedly real stories from the life of young girls with chicken brains.
"I'm seventeen," Elsie cracked a lollipop and got up from the floor, "and at that age, being an idiot is an unaffordable luxury.
"So what you told me is a sign of a great mind?"
- No, this is a sign that I know how to separate the wheat from the chaff and I myself will never do that. No matter how much the authors of tearful teen love stories would like to believe in it. The path to the start of something big can be much shorter than the one they write about. You don't have to suffer much to be happy under the mistletoe.
"Do you think Quinn is stupid for doing just that?" What is not confirmed by anything, mind you - Tom raised his index finger up.
"I don't think she's Daria." Elsie waved the hem of her dressing gown and headed to her room.
The baked beans, the room's occupant's cold dinner, are like children in an orphanage. Joyless and shriveled from experience, in identical brown dresses. A bent fork, a plate with a chip, a glass with a muddy bottom - that's the whole life. An electric light passed over the tines of the fork, touched the rim of the glass, and glanced bashfully at the chipped rim of the plate. Someone else's ugliness always attracts attention, but to show that it is entertaining for you is more expensive for yourself. A piece of wallpaper torn from below rustled invitingly, announcing the visit of his old drafty friend. And the electric light obediently returned to its new hiding place. A perfectly clean ashtray, hidden in a closet for greater reliability. Electric light saw the grave of previous glass sockets - a black bag filled with the ashes of wrappers from cheap products and packaging from inexpensive and necessary things in everyday life. The neon sign peeped through the murky window with an angry look. She didn't see anything there, only splashed purple on the floor and walls. Who knows how it will turn out? And who knows if the morning will come here or there?
Tom thought he was wrong. That a journey from nowhere can only lead to the same gloomy nowhere. And there will be none anywhere. Tom was packing things into a leather suitcase. "Brilliant prospects," the mirror image told Tom. "Eternal boredom," Tom answered the mirror with his lips and hung it with an old T-shirt. This is usually done with bird cages when the birds are too excited. Or when it is time for the birds to rest, but they do not understand this, continuing their cheerful chirping and hubbub inside the frame of metal rods.
Tom wanted to write to Daria. A light and casual letter that everything is fine with him, he is not limp and Broomswell would not be too good for her - like all the previous four years, and she for Broomswell - quite like all the previous twenty-two years. Daria stood alone in Tom's notebook. He remembered her number by heart, he thoroughly memorized both of her addresses. One when they were together, the other when they were both alone. But the trouble is, Tom had no sheet of paper, no pen, no envelope. And there was no readiness to look for all this either. And emails are dead, and it's too difficult to torture yourself with a jig on the keyboard so that Daria does not answer anything or is limited to a short abstruse phrase. Momentary desire went out like a short match.
Tom prudently asked his parents to return from olf club no later than two hours. To choose who will take him to where he belongs. To future career heights. "Whose son are you - father's or mother's?" Elsie's parents somehow managed to share it like it was a pizza, and they had a special knife, while Tom had to be opened every time like a jar of spaghetti tomato sauce. But Tom was given the opportunity to choose for himself, which is not bad at all, provided that you know exactly who you need. Tom didn't know then or now. Dad - mom, Jane - Daria.
Raindrops pounded down the driveway, a drunken drummer seeing a drum kit for the first time in his life; the storm that had been about to break out that night was preparing to strike a dastardly blow at the Saturday plans of all the Lonsdaleites at once. Tom looked at his watch - it was lunch time at the golf club, Elsie was French kissing in her Italian class.
Downstairs, someone pounded insistently on the door.
"Miss Morgendorffer! - Having put on a polite grimace on his face, Tom opened the door wider, but Quinn was in no hurry to enter. She stood and looked at Tom with the air of Saint Lucia, who would rather gouge out his eyes than herself. - Not the best moment for a conversation in the open air, don't you think?
If Tom had guessed to make a bet with his sister, he would have won a twenty. Queen did not turn into cotton candy or a jelly duck, nor began to radiate coral, the color of her nails, hearts with her whole being. And she did not show the slightest hint of desire to enclose Tom in a tenacious girlish embrace. Add to this the fact that Quinn has never called in the past four days, and the picture is completely gloomy - like the work of Munch.
"Come on, Quinn, you're not a vampire to wait for an invitation!" Tom twitched the corners of his lips. "I promise if you come in I'll act like a gentleman. And I won't scare you with a bunch of garlic and a crucifix. The latter, however, is unlikely to be found, but I can always improvise something.
Quinn blushed, wet locks of long hair stuck to her bare neck and to her temples, where a thin vein throbbed.
- Like a gentleman? Quinn asked angrily. - Like a gentleman?
- My nobility in relation to the ladies can be spread on bread instead of butter, - Tom looked at Quinn in bewilderment - what kind of fly bit that one?
- Nobility? Yes, you're just pathetic! – Quinn's eyes sparkled and they also threw lightning.
- What are you talking about? Tom spoke each word in such a way as to focus Quinn's attention on the sentence as a whole. But, as it turned out, the interlocutor was not needed. Forced to submit to the indignant Quinn, Tom leaned back against the now wide open door and prepared to listen.
"When you dated Daria, I thought you were basically a nice guy, if a little crazy because you chose my sister. Your family is rich, but you drove a monstrous car and in every possible way avoided any mention of the big money that you, like leprechauns, hide your gold in banks and invest in investments, assets and stocks. Crazy, I thought, when you and Daria got into your rattling and rotten car, through which the landfill sobbed for a long time and sobbing, just moved.
"Did you come here to tell me about the thoughts that crossed your mind four years ago?" Quinn's mention of Daria's name involuntarily put Tom into a boiling kettle state.
- Yes! - shouted Quinn, and nature gladly joined her cry - thunder boomed. Tom grabbed Quinn's arm and dragged her, desperately resisting, into the house. "And don't you dare touch me!"
"Do you prefer to be struck by lightning?" – irritation released Tom, Tom released Quinn. She sat down on the couch, but immediately jumped to her feet. Scandals and comfortable furniture are not the best combination.
When you broke up, I didn't care. At the end of the summer, Daria emptied her room of the excess rubbish, which she called personal items, left clothes in a bag, books in a box, and went to college. But I stayed. And every time Daria came home - and you can count them on the fingers of one hand! - I was thinking about you. Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas...
"Exclusively on holidays, I get it.
"I remembered, remembered and remembered, trying to figure out why this is happening, why you are so firmly in my head that even my hobbies cannot outweigh your tightly ingrained image," Quinn took a breath and continued: "And I still until now I couldn't understand it. And then I went to this exhibition to expand my horizons, and I met you there. After those unfortunate years. And you were still the same, and I myself became younger again, returning to the past.
– Quinn, – admiring Tom put his hand to his heart, – your speech is so beautiful that I just can't help but tell you about it!
- Here! Quinn exclaimed. - It's all about that!
- Mm?
- You remained unchanged, you are like ... Like Mount Rushmore!
- They say that the bas-relief is constantly attacked by wild tourists.
"But I have changed," Quinn said quietly and nevertheless returned to the sofa. - I thought you would notice and appreciate it, although we did not know each other so well and did not exchange enough phrases. But Daria must have told you about me.
"And the Fashion Club," Tom smiled as he sat down next to Quinn.
"Then, in the galley, I said that I would suit you, but then, on the way to the open cinema, I realized how stupid the situation was. I'm just Daria's sister, so crazy Tom Sloan invited me somewhere. And when Tom Sloane looks at me, he thinks of Daria, smart Daria, not stupid Quinn. And that song playing in the car...
"It's a mid-century classic," said Tom. "And I could see by your face that you didn't like her.
"And that kiss that completely ruined my mood, and the movie you chose ..." Quinn sobbed, and Tom looked at her puzzled. But his furrowed brow immediately smoothed out.
"Did you think that I kissed you only because you are Daria's sister?" Tom asked cautiously.
"A girl with an intelligence like mine doesn't have a lot of options," Quinn snapped, not turning her head towards her counterpart.
The motel, which had just dried the paint in the corridors and fluffed up the pillows in the vacant rooms, tipped over and shuddered slightly. The neon sign flickered with the surviving lights from the previous massacre and squealed in dismay the four faded letters of the name. The electric light lurking behind the bathroom curtain spilled silver paint on the soap dish in contentment.
"Time doesn't stop at some stupid fork, doesn't choose: "Oh, maybe I should go there? Or should we still turn into a diner, which is a few miles from here, according to the sign? It flows, it jumps, it hurries, it doesn't slow down in the middle of its run! Time changes everything you meet on the way, but it doesn't seem to reach you. Left you where it met you!
Tom stared dumbfounded as Quinn circled around like a horse in a ring. Not stupid, not simple, not small. Simply Daria's sister, and that doesn't mean anything. Nothing at all.
- A naive little Queen who can be called along, kissed in passing, and left overboard. Let her suffer because she is not good enough for someone like you!
Tom remained silent, showing an enviable share of prudence - Queen's insight somehow made Tom acquire this wonderful quality too quickly.
"I'm not empty," Quinn said tiredly, returning to the couch after the seventh round. "I don't want to be empty. It was important for me to tell you all this, Tom. That's the only reason I came to you, I wouldn't humiliate myself if there were a reason for others.
The purple sign lost two more letters, which made it look like a toothless poster, of which there are plenty in disadvantaged areas of New York, famous for their love of cinema. The motel was trembling with large tremors, bouncing napkin holders, keys, brand new curtains and flower vases.
"I'm leaving today," Tom filled in the pause with what he could utter. The rest of the words and phrases were not given, stretched, crumpled and torn. "I won't be in Lonsdale in a few hours.
"I made it in time," Quinn said in a toneless tone. - Wish you an easy road? Lightning flashed outside the window.
The motel, already sprawling like a papier-mâché hat in the rain, let out a death sigh and leveled itself on the ground it stood on; the water overflowing the sides of the pool rushed down to earthworms and wet rocks. Electric light rushed up the wires, growing brighter with each turn and turn, succumbing to its example, the charm of the fifties ignited and began to count down from the end, invading the two thousandths. The last neon letter of the sign flared as brightly as it could and went out, releasing the purple. Morning still came. Electric light flew like a moth into the table lamp just in time - the darkness outside the window was getting thicker. Only you can put my world in order, only you can turn darkness into light, only you and you alone can set me on fire and fill my heart with love only for you...
"Look at me," Tom asked in an undertone but insistently, "please, Quinn.
And Quinn looked, with inquiring hope and lingering tenderness. The soft electric light streaming down the back of the sofa stopped politely and obediently one inch and one time loop from the kiss.