CUT TO:
SOUND OF MANY VOICES.
People are standing in the aisles and moving noisily through the seats. Derrida is standing in place amidst empty seats, his hands in his jacket pockets, lingering as others are moving around him. We don't see his colleagues.
He see two young Japanese women a couple rows away. They are talking to each other in semi-hushed volume in English.
Is that him? Him over there?
Yes that's him. He's the one this conference is for.
Everyone is here for him.
One of them points discretely and they both look. Derrida notices them pointing and examines them.
But they are looking not at Derrida but past him. Derrida, his hands still in his pocket, twists his torso to look in the direction they are looking. Twisted around, he grins broadly in satisfaction of what he sees.
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