Hubert is sure he was born cursed — bullied, broken, marked. When the girl he loves vanishes without a word, he drifts between a dead-end carwash and a crooked nightclub, quietly collecting small humiliations until the wiring in his head finally gives.
BLOWN FUSE is a working-class tragicomedy about a young man who keeps a private ledger of everything the world owes him. Joanna is gone — 173 days, no message. Hubert washes buses with his friend Matt, then talks his way into the cloakroom of the Mesopotamian Gates: a club that runs on tickets, favours and a boss named George. His brother Norbert is always close by. As the indignities stack up and the evening news keeps getting worse, the distance between Hubert and the violence he daydreams begins to flicker — until you can't be sure which version of him is telling the story.
Carwash hands, cloakroom smile, a ledger of small humiliations. Our narrator — and maybe an unreliable one.
Loved. Sick. Gone. 173 days and counting — the wound the whole story orbits.
Hubert's brother. Or his other half. Look closely.
The boss whose friends never pay. Muscle in a nice jacket.
Mesopotamian Gates — Simon, Mickey, Signore Theodore. A club that runs on favours.
The script ends three different ways. Pick one — or don't.
Three years on, a far better view of the city — and an open box leaning against the wall.
Someone wakes up smiling in the park. The jacket has no sleeves.
The news again. The same wicked smile. Cut to black, heavy rock.
Filed by Rafal Zygula · blownfuse.valleyberg.com