[00:00.000] 作曲 : Benedict Cumberbatch
[00:00.000] 制作人 : Benedict Cumberbatch
[00:00.000] And now for the second part of the four-part late-night tale, Flat of Angles, written by Simon Clowry and read by me, Benedict Cumberbatch.
[00:10.633] Is there any more drink around here? Do you have any?
[00:13.861] It's alright, I'm not in bed yet. I'm not drinking in the morning. Swear, I had a couple before I had it out last night.
[00:25.681] I sometimes feel like I'm in the 1980s, or perhaps it's a part of my mind formed from watching EastEnders with my family, lying back on the green velour sofa, looking out at the sodium lights of the A505.
[00:36.765] A505, hands fiddling with the clasps on the tarnished aluminum of the secondary double glazing, thinking, imagining romantic futures set out for me by songs from Top of the Pops, twisted by lyrics of Genesis and Starry Starry Nights—paint your palette blue and gray, red and gold are royal colors.
[00:59.707] Yeah, industrial estate. Steady on. Anyway, like I say, it was great.
[01:08.623] I was waiting in the corridor to go to the toilet, standing right in front of the door.
[01:11.689] It opened, and this girl was standing there.
[01:14.231] I was a little shocked, hadn't expected it, and jumped a little. She did the same thing a second later, smiling.
[01:21.448] I tilted my head to the left, about to speak, and looked sympathetic.
[01:25.183] And she tilted her head right. I raised my right hand, she raised her left.
[01:28.081] I put it back down by my side and straightened my head.
[01:30.314] And she did the same. "I'll be your mirror," she said. Nothing else existed for a second there.I felt calmand wanted no more.
[01:41.884] Then some chump slunk up the corridor and said, "Oh, that is so cute."
[01:54.043] I barged past and slammed the door, shot the lock across, and the handle fell off.
[02:01.015] Can't have actually happened. I'm only 28.Only?
[02:08.938] What are we doing with our lives? Why are we carrying on like this? For god's sakes, why don't we grow up? Pretending we're hip, throwing our bodies around the room, around the town.
[02:22.583] Fueled by cheap MDMA and cider with ice.
[02:26.282] Our shadows are long, slip over the horizon, grow thinner and disappear only as the all-encompassing shadow of night takes over.
[02:36.801] It's greater than any of us. Morning comes, and it goes away, peels the film from our eyes, sparks cells into action, and eventually resurrects those who have avoided it.
[02:53.293] It says, "Here is a day. Do with it as you will." "I am back, but she…"
[03:10.494] I'm well up for keeping the session going. Why did I even come back here? God knows.
[03:17.107] I'll give her a call, see what she's up to. We could swing down the tavern for a few drinks to cure the hangover.
[03:20.610] It's ringing. Oh, no! What happened? I think—Hey, where did you get to last night?
[03:25.467] Fancy a Bloody Mary at the pub? Give us a call when you get this.
[03:31.770] She wouldn't move. I lay next to her. Lay.
[03:42.192] We had that meth lab thing, whatever. When I got out of the toilet, she'd given that bloke the heave-ho.
[03:47.773] I can't even remember her face—only the strange flock texture on the wallpaper behind her in the corridor, the magnolia paintwork, the sickly yellow light from a bare bulb, and decades of greasy black iron marks.
[04:01.936] The top of the stairs, Her eyes were black?
[04:14.301] You've been listening to Late Night Tales, music and stories worth staying up for.

作曲 : Benedict Cumberbatch
制作人 : Benedict Cumberbatch
And now for the second part of the four-part late-night tale, Flat of Angles, written by Simon Clowry and read by me, Benedict Cumberbatch.
Is there any more drink around here? Do you have any?
It's alright, I'm not in bed yet. I'm not drinking in the morning. Swear, I had a couple before I had it out last night.
I sometimes feel like I'm in the 1980s, or perhaps it's a part of my mind formed from watching EastEnders with my family, lying back on the green velour sofa, looking out at the sodium lights of the A505.
A505, hands fiddling with the clasps on the tarnished aluminum of the secondary double glazing, thinking, imagining romantic futures set out for me by songs from Top of the Pops, twisted by lyrics of Genesis and Starry Starry Nights—paint your palette blue and gray, red and gold are royal colors.
Yeah, industrial estate. Steady on. Anyway, like I say, it was great.
I was waiting in the corridor to go to the toilet, standing right in front of the door.
It opened, and this girl was standing there.
I was a little shocked, hadn't expected it, and jumped a little. She did the same thing a second later, smiling.
I tilted my head to the left, about to speak, and looked sympathetic.
And she tilted her head right. I raised my right hand, she raised her left.
I put it back down by my side and straightened my head.
And she did the same. "I'll be your mirror," she said. Nothing else existed for a second there.I felt calmand wanted no more.
Then some chump slunk up the corridor and said, "Oh, that is so cute."
I barged past and slammed the door, shot the lock across, and the handle fell off.
Can't have actually happened. I'm only 28.Only?
What are we doing with our lives? Why are we carrying on like this? For god's sakes, why don't we grow up? Pretending we're hip, throwing our bodies around the room, around the town.
Fueled by cheap MDMA and cider with ice.
Our shadows are long, slip over the horizon, grow thinner and disappear only as the all-encompassing shadow of night takes over.
It's greater than any of us. Morning comes, and it goes away, peels the film from our eyes, sparks cells into action, and eventually resurrects those who have avoided it.
It says, "Here is a day. Do with it as you will." "I am back, but she…"
I'm well up for keeping the session going. Why did I even come back here? God knows.
I'll give her a call, see what she's up to. We could swing down the tavern for a few drinks to cure the hangover.
It's ringing. Oh, no! What happened? I think—Hey, where did you get to last night?
Fancy a Bloody Mary at the pub? Give us a call when you get this.
She wouldn't move. I lay next to her. Lay.
We had that meth lab thing, whatever. When I got out of the toilet, she'd given that bloke the heave-ho.
I can't even remember her face—only the strange flock texture on the wallpaper behind her in the corridor, the magnolia paintwork, the sickly yellow light from a bare bulb, and decades of greasy black iron marks.
The top of the stairs, Her eyes were black?
You've been listening to Late Night Tales, music and stories worth staying up for.