The Man With My Drawer

I met a man at a fishing spot who had my exact drawer.
Not similar. The same. Maca, tribulus, the beet stuff, two prescriptions, a pump he doesn't mention. He listed them and I could have finished his sentences.
And then he said the thing I've said to myself in the dark maybe five hundred times.
He said: I think I'm just one of the ones it doesn't work on.
And hearing it out loud, in another man's voice, about another man's body — it sounded insane. Obviously he's not broken. He bought eleven things that were all doing the same job.
Which meant I had to go home and apply that to myself. And I really didn't want to.
There aren't two of us. There's a shelf full of the same idea, and two men who each thought it was personal.
What none of it was aimed at is written up below.

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TiempoTextoFunción
0–6smy exact drawerCartela
34–40sit sounded insaneQuiebre
50–56stwo men who thought it was personalReencuadre

Primer frame: dos listas idénticas escritas una junto a otra, cenital.
Escena: cartelas comparando las dos listas fila a fila. Sin rostro.

RiesgoEs la mejor solución del portafolio al problema de A07: absuelve SIN consolar. Él no se perdona a sí mismo; ve su frase en boca ajena y no le cuadra. Si un locutor añade calidez, se rompe.