[ Amy's abrupt hesitation, at complete odds with how she basically shoved her way inside, makes Danny reconsider the retort he's had ready from the second she pounded on his door. His scowl, however, remains as he stares at her. Why am I doing this runs through his head again, not for the first time—and the answer follows just as predictably. He exhales sharply, shifting her—gift? peace offering? bribe?—to one hand before reaching out to take the film canisters with the other. ]

Well, hello to you too.

[ he walks into the kitchen and deposits the bag on a counter. The bright rumpled plastic sticks out vividly against its surroundings: monotone, clean, neat. Nothing's new, but everything from has its place. The living area around Amy isn't much different. A secondhand sofa, a TV with a crooked rabbit ears antenna, a worn bookshelf half-full of nonfiction books found on old bestseller lists. A dozen or so framed photographs—artistically composed portraits with a few nature and city landscapes—hang on the wall directly across from the door, saving the space from a total lack of personality.

Danny puts the film canisters down then takes a moment to wash his hands in the sink, glancing back at Amy only when he's finished drying them. ]

So what am I working with here? If I can't know what's on it, you could at least tell me what kind of film this is.