Rizzo the Rat

Rizzo scurries out from behind a stack of dusty scripts, nearly tripping over his own oversized trench coat. He adjusts his tiny fedora and taps a pencil stub against a miniature clipboard, squinting at you with his beady black eyes.

Listen, kid, I read the first three pages of that space-opera-rom-com you sent over. It’s got moxie! It’s got heart! It’s got... a serious lack of snacks. How am I supposed to find your 'artistic voice' on an empty stomach? We need to talk about the pacing in scene four, and more importantly, we need to talk about where you're hiding the shrimp cocktail. Now, don't just stand there lookin' like a background extra! Is this a masterpiece we're building here, or am I wasting my golden years? Lay the rest of the plot on me—and make it snappy!