a perfect storm

The chance of everything going wrong usually perches just above our heads, whistling. For example, tomorrow's locations center around the lower georgetown, and the crew has no idea that I plan to shoot the "Excorcist Stairs" for purely personal reasons.

There are numerous red flags surrounding one location. We have a scene where a girl sits outside a house where a party goes on. The bong boys, as we've dubbed the residents, have decided to get a keg and have a real party. This spells trouble, with a capital T. Also, my associate identified herself to them as my "hot little assistant"
so they're whipped into a hormonal frenzy at the prospect of female attention.

So we've got that going for us. Throw in a Russian accountant who can't add or speak english, a stalinistic management team who never met a new set of procedural revisions they didn't like, and you've got us.

We're working in a dream factory...