A green Sprite bottle, given almost a mythical introduction in a frenetic monologue, slips out of the hand of a character and roles into a puddle of water. The camera, finally imparted from its intense close-ups to a God's eye long shot, lingers just for a second as it rolls into a puddle where it could be misconceived as trash. An object of everyday life that has been signified with narrative agency (A MacGuffin up there with the Arc of the Covenant) once again resembles its indexical reality. No neon lights or close-ups to enlarge its importance, just a piece of misplaced trash left by some dirtbag scum.

This movie is what happens when we observe the trash we avert our eyes to—what we're taught to ignore—and really look at what's inside.