This is a story about a man named Harold Crick.
And his wristwatch.
Harold Crick was a man of infinite numbers...
...endless calculations and remarkably few words.
And his wristwatch said even less.
Every weekday, for 12 years...
...Harold would brush each of his 32 teeth 76 times.
Thirty-eight times back and forth.
Thirty-eight times up and down.
Every weekday, for 12 years...
...Harold would tie his tie in a single Windsor knot instead of the double...
...thereby saving up to 43 seconds.
His wristwatch thought the single Windsor made his neck look fat...
...but said nothing.
Every weekday, for 12 years...
...Harold would run at a rate of nearly 57 steps per block for six blocks...
...barely catching the 8: 17 Kronecker bus.
His wristwatch would delight...
...in the feeling of the crisp wind rushing over its face.
And every weekday, for 12 years...
...Harold would review 7. 134 tax files...
...as a senior agent for the Internal Revenue Service.
Regs section 1.469-2 (B) (i), Diane. Thanks.
Good morning. IRS.
Harold, 89 times 1417?
126,113.
That adds up.
Only taking a 45. 7-minute lunch break...
...and a 4.3- Minute coffee break...
...timed precisely by his wristwatch.
Oh, great.
Yeah, we'll go to Mullen's or we'll...
Beyond that, Harold lived a life of solitude.
He would walk home alone.
He would eat alone.
And at precisely 11: 13 every night...
...Harold would go to bed alone...
...placing his wristwatch to rest on the nightstand beside him.
That was, of course, before Wednesday.
On Wednesday, Harold's wristwatch changed everything.
Oh, my God, you got it?
I got it.
If one had asked Harold, he would have said...
...that this particular Wednesday was exactly like all the Wednesdays prior.
And he began it the same way he...
And he began it the same way he always did.
Hello?
He began it the same way he always did.
When others' minds would...
Hello? Is someone there?
When others' minds would fantasize about their upcoming day...
...or even try to grip onto the final moments of their dreams...
...Harold just counted brushstrokes.
All right, who just said, "Harold just counted brushstrokes"?
And how do you know I'm counting brushstrokes?
Hello?
It was remarkable how the simple, modest...
It was remarkable h...
It was remarkable how the simple, modest elements of Harold's life...
...so often taken for granted...
...would become the catalyst for an entirely new life.
Harold ran for the bus...
...his stiff leather shoes making a terrible squeaking sound...
...as they flexed against the asphalt.
And though this was an extraordinary day...
...a day to be remembered for the rest of Harold's life...
...Harold just thought it was a Wednesday.
I'm sorry, did you hear that?
The voice. Did you hear it? "Harold thought it was a Wednesday"?
Don't worry, it is Wednesday.
No, no, did you hear it? "Harold just thought it was a Wednesday"?
- Who's Harold? - I'm Harold.
Harold, it's okay, it's Wednesday.
No, no, I...
Never mind.
Harold couldn't concentrate on his work.
Excuse me, Harold?
His thoughts were scattered. His mind elsewhere.
Sorry.
Someone here should be able to fix... Hold on a second.
Hey, Harold. What's 67 times 453?
When a coworker asked the product of 67 and 453...
You know what? I can't think while you're talking.
...he drew a blank.
- What? - What?
- Harold quickly answered, "30,351." - What? Oh, nothing. 30,351.
Despite the answer really being 31,305.
Wait, wait, wait, 31,305. Sorry.
Dude, I just totally caught some insurance adjuster...
...claiming his jet ski as a work vehicle.
I'll tell you, it is a shame...
...that they don't give out an auditor of the year award.
Dude?
You okay?
Dave, I'm being followed.
How are you being followed? You're not moving.
- It's by a voice. - What?
I'm being followed by a woman's voice.
Okay.
What is she saying?
She's narrating.
Harold, you're staring at boxes, what is she narrating?
No, no, no. I had to stop filing.
Watch. Watch. Listen. Listen.
The sound the paper made against the folder...
...had the same tone as a wave scraping against sand.
And when Harold thought about it...
...he listened to enough waves every day...
...to constitute what he imagined to be a deep and endless ocean.
Did you hear that?
You mean you filing?
No, no, no, the voice.
No.
Frightening part is sometimes I do imagine a deep and endless ocean.
What ocean?
The one made by the sound... Forget it.
New audits. Have a good day.
Thank you.
All right, we got a baker and a securities trader.
Maybe you should take the baker.
- Okay? - Okay.
Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!
- You miscreant. - I understand.
Oh, get bent, taxman!
- Taxman! - Taxman!
Taxman!
Go home!
Listen, is there somewhere else we could talk about this?
No. We're gonna talk about this right here.
Okay. It says, the file, that you only paid part of your taxes for last year.
- That's right. - Looks like only 78 percent.
Yep.
So you did it on purpose?
Yep.
So you must have been expecting an audit?
I was expecting a fine...
...or a sharp reprimand.
A reprimand? This isn't boarding school, Ms. Pascal.
You stole from the government.
No, I didn't steal from the government. I just didn't pay you entirely.
Ms. Pascal, you can't just not pay your taxes.
Yes, I can.
You can if you wanna get audited.
Only if I recognize your right to audit me, Mr. Crick.
Ms. Pascal, I'm right here auditing you.
Now I have to go over your past three years...
...to make sure that's all you haven't paid.
Fine.
Actually, you know, it's not fine.
Listen, I'm a big supporter of fixing potholes...
...and erecting swing sets and building shelters.
I am more than happy to pay those taxes.
I'm just not such a big fan of the percentage...
...that the government uses for national defense...
...corporate bailouts and campaign discretionary funds.
So I didn't pay those taxes.
I think, actually...
...I sent a letter to that effect with my return.
Would it be the letter that begins, "Dear lmperialist Swine"?
Yes.
Ms. Pascal, what you're describing is anarchy. Are you an anarchist?
- You mean am I a member of...? - An anarchist group, yes.
Anarchists have a group?
I believe so. Sure.
They assemble?
I don't know.
Wouldn't that completely defeat the purpose?
It was difficult for Harold to imagine Ms. Pascal as a revolutionary.
- Not now. - Her thin arms...
- What? ...hoisting protest signs.
- Her long shapely legs... - Nothing.
...dashing from tear gas.
Harold wasn't prone to fantasies...
...and so he tried his best to remain professional.
But, of course, failed.
He couldn't help but imagine Ms. Pascal...
...stroking the side of his face with the soft blade of her finger.
He couldn't help but imagine her immersed in a tub...
...shaving her legs.
And he couldn't help but imagine her naked...
...stretched across his bed. - Mr. Crick?
- Mr. Crick. - Yes, what is it?
You're staring at my tits.
I wa...? I don't think I was. I don't think I would do that.
If I was, I can assure you...
...it was only as a representative of the United States government.
Sorry, I'm just having issues today. So I'll be back on Tuesday.
Harold suddenly found himself beleaguered and exasperated...
...outside the bakery... - Shut up!
...cursing the heavens in futility.
No, I'm not, I'm cursing you, you stupid voice!
So shut up and leave me alone!
Hey, watch it!
Excuse me.
Are you Miss Eiffel?
- Yes. - Excellent.
May I ask what you're doing?
Research.
- Oh, am I interrupting? - Yes.
I'm sorry. I'm Penny Escher.
I'm the assistant your publishers hired.
- The spy. - The assistant.
I provide the same services as a secretary.
I don't need a secretary.
Then I will have to find some other way of occupying my time.
Like watching me like a vulture...
...because the publishers think I have writer's block, right?
Do you have writer's block?
Are these pages?
They're letters. To me.
- Are you writing back? - I don't respond to letters.
And I suppose you smoked all these cigarettes?
No, they came pre-smoked.
Yeah, they said you were funny.
What do you think about leaping off a building?
I don't think about leaping off buildings.
- Yes, you do. - No. I try to think of nice things.
Everyone thinks about leaping off buildings.
Well, I certainly don't think about leaping off of a building.
They say...
I read this in this fantastically depressing book.
- That when you jump from a building...
...it's rarely the impact that actually kills you.
Well, I'm sure it doesn't help.
There's a photograph in the book called The Leaper.
It's old, but it's beautiful.
From above the corpse of a woman who'd just leapt to her death.
There's blood around her head, like a halo...
...and her leg's buckled underneath, her arm's snapped like a twig...
...but her face is so serene...
...so at peace.
And I think it's because when she died...
...she could feel the wind against her face.
I don't know how to kill Harold Crick. That's why they sent you.
Yes, to help you.
How are you gonna help me?
You, who never thinks of leaping off buildings?
What great inspiration will you bestow on me?
I'll tell you, the quaint ideas you've gathered...
...in your adorable career as an "assistant"...
...are to no avail when faced with killing a man.
I understand.
Do you? I can't just...
As much as I would like to...
...I cannot simply throw Harold Crick off a building.
Miss Eiffel. Kay. I've been an author's assistant for 11 years.
I've helped more than 20 authors complete more than 35 books...
...and I've never missed the deadline.
And I have never gone back to the publisher to ask for more time.
Now, I will be available to you every minute of every day...
...until the final punctuation is embedded on the very last page.
I do not like loud music. I do not abide narcotics.
And I will gladly and quietly help you kill Harold Crick.
I had a very interesting little convo with someone in your section.
Yeah?
They said you were feeling a little wibbly-wobbly.
Catch a little cubicle fever?
Oh, I don't know. I think I'm okay.
Harold, a tree doesn't think it's a tree...
...it is a tree.
Why was Harold talking to this man?
This man was an idiot.
This man used words like "wibbly-wobbly" and "convo."
And explained that trees were trees.
Of course trees were trees.
Harold knew trees were trees.
I am going to believe you, Harold.
What Harold didn't know was why he couldn't shake...
...the smell of brownies from his senses.
Why Ms. Pascal had made his fingertips quiver and lips go numb.
Harold?
Yes? Sorry.
What's going on, Harold?
Well...
Nothing. Everything's fine.
Listen, according to your records...
...you haven't taken vacation in a few years now.
Let's say you take a little break.
Use some of that vaca time.
Yeah. I'll think about it.
Harold.
I'm not really supposed to do this, but...
Harold assumed his watch was simply on the fritz...
...and never even considered that it might be trying to tell him something.
In fact, Harold had never once paid attention to his watch...
...other than to find out the time.
And, honestly, it drove his watch crazy.
And so, on this particular Wednesday evening...
...as Harold waited for the bus, his watch suddenly...
...stopped.
Sorry, does anyone have the time?
- Yeah, I got 6:18. - Thanks.
Thus Harold's watch thrust him into the immitigable path of fate.
Little did he know that this simple, seemingly innocuous act...
...would result in his imminent death.
What? What?
Hey! Hello?
What?
Why?
Why my death?
Hello!
Excuse me!
When?
How imminent?
Okay, where are you?
"Harold would brush his 32 teeth 72 times."
Why won't you say anything? I heard you.
"That would result in his imminent death."
I heard you!
Come on, you stupid voice.
"Harold frantically grabbed his lamp.
Harold, incensed, shook the hell out of it for no apparent reason!
And smashed it on the ground, kicking it repeatedly!
Harold took his Kleenex box, threw it across the room...
...then stormed the closet!"
Come on. Say something.
Something. Say something!
Say something!
"Harold, distraught..."
God.
"Harold, distraught..."
"Harold..."
I'm afraid what you're describing is schizophrenia.
No. No. It's not schizophrenia. It's just a voice in my head.
I mean, the voice isn't telling me to do anything.
It's telling me what I've already done.
Accurately and with a better vocabulary.
Mr. Crick, you have a voice speaking to you.
No, not to me, about me.
I'm somehow involved in some sort of story.
Like I'm a character in my own life.
But the problem is that the voice comes and goes.
Like there are other parts of the story not being told to me...
...and I need to find out what those other parts are before it's too late.
Before the story concludes with your death.
Yes.
Mr. Crick, I hate to sound like a broken record...
...but that's schizophrenia.
You don't sound like a broken record, but it's just not schizophrenia.
What if what I said was true?
Hypothetically speaking, if I was part of a story, a narrative...
...even if it was only in my mind...
...what would you suggest that I do?
I would suggest you take prescribed medication.
Other than that.
I don't know.
I suppose I would send you to see someone who knows about literature.
Okay.
Yeah. That's a good idea.
Thank you.
So you're the gentleman who called me about the narrator.
- Yes. - This narrator says you're gonna die.
Yes.
- How long has it given you to live? - I don't know.
Dramatic irony. It'll fuck you every time.
- So you crazy or what? - Well...
Are you allowed to say that to crazy people?
- I don't know. - Oh, well. How many stairs...
...in the hallway out there? - What?
You were counting them as we walked, weren't you?
No.
Of course. What bank do you work at?
No bank. IRS agent.
- Married? - No.
Ever?
Engaged to an auditor. She left me for an actuary.
- How heartbreaking. Live alone? - Yes.
- Any pets? - No.
- Friends? - No. Well, Dave at work.
I see. The narrator, exactly what does he sound like?
It's a woman.
A woman.
- Is it a familiar woman? - No.
Someone you know?
No.
Did you have enough time to count the tiles in the bathroom?
I wasn't counting the tiles.
- Coffee? - No, thank you.
- Sure? - Yes.
So this woman, the voice, told you you're gonna die?
She didn't tell me. She doesn't know I can hear her.
- But she said it. - Yes.
And you believed her.
She's been right about a few other things.
- Such as? - How I felt about work.
- You dislike your work? - Yes.
Well, not the most insightful voice in the world, is it?
First thing on a list of what Americans hate: Work.
Second, traffic. Third, missing socks. See what I'm saying?
Sort of.
I told you you were gonna die, you believe me?
- No. - Why?
I don't know you.
- But you don't know this narrator. - Well...
- Okay, Mr. Crick, I can't help you. - Why?
Well, I'm not an expert in crazy, I'm an expert in literature theory.
And I gotta tell you, thus far...
...there doesn't seem to be a single literary thing about you.
I don't doubt you hear a voice, but it couldn't possibly be a narrator...
...because, frankly, there doesn't seem to be much to narrate.
Beside that, this semester I'm teaching five courses.
I'm mentoring two doctoral candidates...
...and I'm the faculty lifeguard at the pool.
- I just thought you could possibly... - Perhaps you should keep a journal.
Write down what she said or something.
That's all I can suggest.
I can barely remember it all. I just remember:
"Little did he know that this simple, seemingly innocuous act...
...would lead to his imminent death."
- What? - "Little did he know that this..."
- Did you say, "little did he know"? - Yes.
I've written papers on "little did he know."
I used to teach a class based on "little did he know."
I mean, I once gave an entire seminar on "little did he know."
Son of a bitch, Harold.
"Little did he know" means there's something he doesn't know...
...that means there's something you don't know. Did you know that?
- I want you to come back Friday. - Okay.
No, "imminent," you could be dead by Friday.
Come back tomorrow at 9:45.
Ten seconds ago you said you wouldn't help me.
It's been a very revealing 10 seconds, Harold.
Harold was deep in thought.
For a few, brief moments, from Born Boulevard to Euclid Avenue...
...all the calculations and all the rules...
...and all the precision of Harold's life just faded away.
How perfect then that in this space...
...Ana Pascal would appear.
Ms. Pascal.
Ms. Pascal, it's Harold Crick from the IRS.
Excuse me.
- Hi. - Hi.
- Would you like a seat? - Nope.
There's 11 open ones.
I don't care.
Sorry about that.
How are you?
I'm lousy. I'm being audited.
Of course.
By a real creep too.
I think I owe you an apology.
- Really? - IRS agents...
...we're given rigorous aptitude tests before we can work.
Unfortunately for you, we aren't tested on tact or good manners...
...so I apologize.
I ogled you.
Sorry.
Okay, apology accepted.
But only because you stammered.
So you're a frequenter of the metropolitan transit authority too?
No. I'm just late.
Big flag-burning to get to?
Actually...
...it's my weekly evil-conspiracy and needlepoint group.
You wanna come?
I left my thimbles and socialist reading material at home.
So...
Harold nervously made small talk.
You have very straight teeth.
Very small talk.
Thanks. They're real.
Harold quickly calculated the odds of making an ass of himself...
...in ratio to the amount of time he stayed to chat.
This is my stop. I should go.
- He was elated and surprised... - See you soon.
...by his somewhat flirtatious encounter with Ms. Pascal.
So elated that he exited the Transit Authority bus...
...a good 27 blocks too early and would now have to walk.
- "You ain't down yet." - That's right.
Tell us, what is You Ain't Got Nothin' On Me about, Emmett Cole?
What does this mean?
Well, it's about being around in the world, doing different things...
...doing what you wanna do... - Come in.
Mr. Crick. Come in, come in. Please.
How are you?
I'm fine, actually.
You can turn that off.
Looks like our narrator hasn't killed you quite yet.
- No, not yet. - Good, great. Have a seat.
- Count the stairs outside? - No.
Course not. I've devised a test...
How exciting is that? - Of 23 questions...
...which I think might help uncover more truths about this narrator.
- Now, Howard... - Harold.
Harold. These may seem silly, but your candor is paramount.
Okay.
So.
We know it's a woman's voice, the story involves your death...
...it's modern, it's in English.
I'm assuming the author has a cursory knowledge of the city.
- Sure. - Okay, good.
Question one:
"Has anyone recently left any gifts outside your home?"
Anything? Gum? Money?
- A large wooden horse? - I'm sorry?
- Just answer the question. - No.
"Do you find yourself inclined to solve murder mysteries...
...in large, luxurious homes to which...?" Let me finish.
"To which you may or may not have been invited?"
No. No, no, no.
All right. On a scale of one to 10...
...what would you consider the likelihood you might be assassinated?
Assassinated?
One being very unlikely, 10 being expecting it around every corner.
- I have no idea... - Okay. Let me rephrase.
Are you the king of anything?
- Like what? - Anything.
King of the lanes at the local bowling alley.
"King of the lanes"?
- King of the lanes. King of the trolls. - "King of the trolls"?
Yes. A clandestine land found underneath your floorboards.
- Anything. - No.
No. That's ridiculous.
Agreed. But let's start with ridiculous and move backwards.
Now, was any part of you at one time part of something else?
Like do I have someone else's arms?
Well, is it possible at one time that you were made of stone...
...wood, lye, varied corpse parts...
...or earth made holy by rabbinical elders?
No. Look... I'm sorry. What do these questions have to do with anything?
The only way to find out what story you're in...
...is to determine what stories you're not in.
Odd as it may seem, I've just ruled out half of Greek literature...
...seven fairy tales, 10 Chinese fables...
...and determined conclusively that you are not King Hamlet...
...Scout Finch, Miss Marple...
...Frankenstein's monster, or a golem.
Aren't you relieved to know you're not a golem?
Yes, I am relieved to know that I am not a golem.
Good.
Do you have magical powers?
May I ask what we're doing out here?
- We're imagining car wrecks. - I see.
And we can't imagine car wrecks inside?
No.
Did you know that 41 percent of accidents...
...occur in times of inclement weather?
So do 90 percent of pneumonia cases.
Really? Pneumonia. That's an interesting way to die.
But how would Harold catch pneumonia?
Have you written anything new today?
No.
Did you read the poems I suggested, or make a list of words...
...buy new typing paper, anything?
No, none of it.
Sitting in the rain won't write books.
Well, that illustrates exactly how much you know about writing books.
What's this?
It's literature on the nicotine patch.
I don't need a nicotine patch, Penny. I smoke cigarettes.
Well, it may help.
May help? Help what?
Help what, Penny? Help write a novel?
May help save your life.
I'm not in the business of saving lives.
In fact, just the opposite.
- "What's your favorite word?" - Integer.
Good, good, good.
"Do you aspire to anything?"
- No. - Conquer Russia?
- Win a whistling contest? - No.
Harold, you must have some ambition.
- I don't think so. - Some underlying dream. Think.
Well...
...l've always wanted my life to be more musical.
- Like West Side Story? - No.
- Like... - What?
Well, I've always wanted to learn to play the guitar.
Okay.
The last thing to determine conclusively...
...is whether you're in a comedy or a tragedy.
To quote Italo Calvino:
"The ultimate meaning to which all stories refer has two faces:
The continuity of life, the inevitability of death."
Tragedy, you die. Comedy, you get hitched.
Most comic heroes fall in love with people...
...introduced after the story has begun.
Usually people who hate the hero initially.
Although I can't imagine anyone hating you, Harold.
Professor Hilbert, I'm an IRS agent.
Everyone hates me.
Right, right. Good.
Have you met anyone recently who might loathe the very core of you?
I just started auditing a woman who told me to get bent.
Well, that sounds like a comedy.
Try to develop that.
Four of these?
You know, I didn't get my honey, honey.
Lulu, can you refill the honey for Larry? Quarters also?
That's my good boy.
I'm adding some acorns.
Mr. Crick.
You're here early. Must have a lot of people to extort.
No. No, just you.
- Twig tea and banana bread. - Yes, ma'am.
Actually, it should only take the day to make sure 22 percent is all you owe.
Well, I won't be paying no matter the percentage, Mr. Crick.
No, I know. But the percent determines how big your cell is.
You know, you can call me Harold.
Yeah, I know. But I don't want to.
This is for Ramona, honey.
- Oh, thank you. - You're very welcome.
What is that? What are you marking?
Oh, this is nothing.
Why don't we start with your backup documents...
...and the receipts for the past three years.
Sure.
What's this?
- My files. - What?
My tax files.
You keep your files like this?
No, actually I'm quite fastidious.
I put them in this box just to screw with you.
- Hi. - Hi. How are you?
So how was it? Aruba.
Ms. Pascal? Can I just ask you a question about this receipt?
- It was fantastic. - Just wondering if this nine is a seven.
- And what did you do? - I got a beautiful tan.
- I'm just gonna guess it's a seven. - I mean, I feel stress-free.
Do you need help with that?
- Walk to heaven. I see the president.
- It's the taxman. Hello, Mr. Taxman. - Yeah.
- You can call me Harold. - Okay.
- How the numbers going? - Pretty good.
- Gonna find that 22 percent? - 22 percent?
Twenty-two, 11 times 2. It's prime numbers.
- You gonna tax the bathroom? - No, I'm not gonna tax the bathroom.
- Could I use the bathroom, then? - Go for it.
Okay. I wanna use the bathroom. Bye now.
Bye-bye.
Well, good night.
You want a cookie?
Oh, no.
Come on. They're warm and gooey. They're fresh out of the oven.
No, I don't like cookies.
You don't like cookies?
- What's wrong with you? - I don't know.
- Everybody likes cookies. - No, I know.
I mean, after a really awful, no-good day...
...didn't your mama ever make you milk and cookies?
No. My mother didn't bake.
The only cookies I ever had were store-bought.
Okay. Sit down.
- No, I'm... - No.
Sit down.
Now...
...eat a cookie.
I really can't.
Mr. Crick, it was a really awful day.
I know, I made sure of it.
So pick up the cookie...
...dip it in the milk...
...and eat it.
That's a really, really good cookie.
So when did you decide to become a baker?
- In college. - Oh, like a cooking college?
I went to Harvard Law actually.
- Oh, I'm sorry, I just assumed it was... - No. No, it's fine. I didn't finish.
- Did something happen? - No.
I was barely accepted. I mean, really barely.
The only reason they let me come was because of my essay.
How I was gonna make the world a better place with my degree.
Anyway, we would have to participate in these study sessions...
...my classmates and I, sometimes all night long.
And so I'd bake so no one would go hungry while we worked.
Sometimes I would bake all afternoon in the kitchen in the dorm...
...and then I'd bring my little treats to the study groups...
...and people loved them.
Eat.
I made oatmeal cookies, peanut-butter bars...
...dark-chocolate macadamia-nut wedges.
And everyone would eat and stay happy...
...and study harder and do better on the tests.
More and more people started coming to the study groups...
...and I'd bring more snacks.
I was always looking for better and better recipes...
...until soon it was ricotta cheese and apricot croissants...
...and mocha bars with an almond glaze...
...and lemon chiffon cake with zesty peach icing.
And at the end of the semester I had 27 study partners...
...eight Mead journals filled with recipes...
...and a D average.
So I dropped out.
I figured if I was gonna make the world a better place...
...I would do it with cookies.
You like them?
I do.
I'm glad.
Thank you for forcing me to eat them.
You're welcome.
I should go. Oh, thank you. For the cookies, I mean.
- Why don't you take them home? - Oh, no.
- Oh, come on. - No, really, please.
- No, no, no. Really, please.
I would like to, but I can't.
- You can't? - No, no, I mean...
Because, see, it constitutes a gift.
Actually I shouldn't have even had those other ones, so...
Okay. Well, I'm not gonna tell anyone.
- No. I know, but if you did... - Well, I'm not going to.
I know, but if you did...
- What, you think I'm gonna call the...? - No, no. I'll purchase them.
I'm happy to purchase them. How's that?
And then there are no issues.
- What? - No.
- Please. - Just...
- Why don't I just...? - Go home.
Really, it's not a big deal.
Go home.
Okay.
Did you?
You baked those cookies for me, didn't you?
You were just trying to be nice and I totally blew it.
This may sound like gibberish to you...
...but I think I'm in a tragedy.
Professor Hilbert, I've totally failed at the comedy-tragedy thing.
In fact, I think she likes me even less.
- I know, it's great. - What do you mean?
You've proved something else entirely.
The voice seems to be dependent on actions you take.
You reset your watch, it says you reset your watch.
You ride a bus, it says you ride the bus.
You brush your teeth, it says you brush your teeth.
It may be that you yourself are perpetuating the story.
- So I suggest we try something else. - Like what?
- Try nothing. Nothing. - What about Ms. Pascal?
- Forget her. - Forget her?
Other than numbers, she's all I think about.
Harold, if you wanna stay alive, you'll try something else.
- That something being nothing? - Nothing, exactly.
- Nothing? - Let me explain this again.
Some plots are moved forward by external events and crises.
Others are moved forward by the characters themselves.
If I go through that door, the plot continues.
The story of me through the door. If I stay here...
...the plot can't move forward, the story ends.
Also if I stay here, I'm late.
- Don't do anything tomorrow. - Nothing?
Stay home. Don't answer the phone, open the door, brush your teeth.
- What about work? - Call them.
- Tell them you're not coming. - Don't go to work?
Don't do anything that may move the plot forward.
Instead, let's see if the plot finds you.
Marshall, you're not kicking.
- Certain that these geese have never known any home but this one:
A small lake in Eastern Poland.
Pollution from a nearby factory is slowly killing...
...the small fish and insects on which these creatures feed.
All attempts to move the birds to similar bodies of water have failed.
Perhaps it is the familiarity alone that keeps them here.
Or perhaps it's an unwillingness to lose the collective memory...
...of the once-beautiful hills that surround the lake.
And it takes only seconds for the fiddler crabs to realize...
...that the wader they might once have feared...
...has now become their prey.
The wounded bird knows its fate.
Its desperate attempts to escape...
...only underscore the hopelessness of its plight.
The primates' sad, soulful eyes will be the first to be plucked out...
...then sold to cosmetic companies around the world...
...for use in the testing of mascara and artificial tears.
Next, the monkeys' fur will be stripped away from their limp corpses...
...and sewn together to form pillows and comforters.
Mr. Zebra thought he was gonna take a nice drink.
But you never know who's gonna eat...
...when you're dining at Mother Nature's restaurant.
That's gotta hurt. What does this bald eagle wanna serve...
...with some kidney beans and a fine Chianti?
It's an eel. And again:
Looks like old Mr. Crocodile wanted some antelope...
...to clear that salty zebra from his palate.
Here's a struggle betting gentlemen have been known to put money on.
When a mongoose encounters a cobra it's hard to know who's gonna win.
But this time it looks like it's... the cobra...
...who's putting the squeeze on the mongoose!
But don't cash in your chips just yet, gentlemen...
...because now it's the mongoose who holds the winning card!
Hey! Hey!
Hey, hey, hey! What are you doing?!
- Holy crapping hell. - What the hell is that?
- Stop the crane. Stop it. - Stop the crane!
- Hey. - Hey, what are you doing?
Us? What are you doing?
I was watching TV.
- Well, we're demolishing this place. - Are you nuts? I live here!
- Is that a TV? - Yes, that's a TV! It's my TV!
- Well, what's your TV doing in there? - I said I live here, stupid!
It's where I keep my stuff!
My name's on the goddamn buzzer! Harold Crick.
Apartment 2-B, 1893 McCarthy!
- Did you say 1893? - Yes!
I'm not exactly sure it was plot.
I was hoping you'd say it was just a really bad coincidence.
Meeting an insurance agent the day your policy runs out is coincidence.
Getting a letter from the emperor saying that he's visiting is plot.
Having your apartment eaten by a wrecking ball...
...is something else entirely.
Harold, you don't control your fate.
- I know. - You do?
Okay. Come with me.
Hey, Tom, can you leave that till tomorrow?
You were right. This narrator might very well kill you...