Marion Crane finds herself in a familiar room—a motel room. Though she doesn’t have any recollection of a particular destination in mind that would have lead her there. She finds herself obsessed with combing over the details of the contents of her suitcase, even though she packed it. She partially takes her hair out of the floral silk scarf that it’s wrapped in and works her way around the bed to the mirror. The scarf is removed in a way that only can be described as pre-choreographed, hypnotic, the pantomime of a snake charmers’ snake, but in a reverse motion, minus the sounds of the pungi.
After the scarf gracefully falls to the bed, the cat eye sunglasses are next. She tips them down to the end of her nose and peers over, fixating on her lips—which are bright pink, but with an insistent tick, she decides to re-apply a darker shade over it. Before she can finish, she’s interrupted by a soft knock on the door. Possibly a man or child? With the top chain still fastened, she slowly peers through the portal of her room and the world outside. Before she can process nothing’s there, something brushes her ankle, making it’s way into the room. Surprisingly, she doesn’t scream—she could use the company. A small crow stands in the middle of the room, staring. A box is no place for a bird she thinks to herself and takes one step towards it. “Kaw” says the bird as she gets closer then takes two steps back. Before she knows it, she’s in the bathroom, the bird is silent. No longer fixated on the crow, her lipstick, or the motel, but on the hot shower she doesn’t remember running. There’s another knock on the door, this one is louder.