sovietmontage:

パーフェクトブルー [Perfect Blue] (Satoshi Kon, 1997)

he near-whispered.

George crouched over Jerry’s motionless body, connected at their mouths by a thin line of spittle. A siren blared in the distance, a reminder of the past’s inexorable intersection with the present. Consequence.

Again, more urgently, “How can I ask?”

Wiping the sweat from his pallid face, he began a high, nervous laugh. “How can……… allergic………. How can I ask………..” The laugh had become the quick panting of hyperventilation. “How can I ask………… HOW CAN I ASK?”

There was a knock at the door.