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- FADE IN:
- The bathroom is filthy, grey sunlight trickling in through a small window high on the wall.
- The door opens and #4263 walks in.
- 4263 is dressed in a black military uniform, its face covered by a large gas mask.
- 4263 surveys the room, and then spots a cracked mirror, leaning against the wall next to the sink.
- 4263 slips backward, trying to avoid its reflection but too late, it sees a bit of itself.
- 4263 kneels in the dust surveying its reflection and slowly touching the gas mask.
- A government sticker labels the mirror a "subversive object."
- 4263 hesitates then looks closer.
- It turns towards the door, but must look again.
- It slowly pulls the mask from its face, groaning as the mask tears flesh where it has been welded into 4263's face.
- The mask loose, 4263 stares into his pale reflection, skin ghostly white.
- There is almost no face, only eyes, and smooth skin where a mouth should be.
- 4263 stares at the mirror, feeling is face, trying to find a mouth, patting his cheeks as his eyes grow wider, even feeling his bald scalp for something, but finds nothing.
- He stays, huddled in the filth by the mirror, tears streaming from his cold, gray eyes.
- FADE TO BLACK.
- Harvey Rodriguez doesn’t frown or protest as the manager fires him, her bleach-blond hair bouncing as she defines and gesticulates the reasons for his termination.
He casually unties his blue frock and throws it into the hamper behind the convenience store’s grimy counter. The counter is etched deep with doodles, and initials and whatnots, long abandoned and forgotten by their owners.
“I’m sorry, but this is the third time this month that the drop’s been short,” Marissa says, tonguing the remains of a dark green vegetable stuck between her teeth.
She looks away from him, counting money from an envelope. She finally looks up and says, “Someone has to go, and it sure as hell isn’t going to be me.”
Harvey doesn’t mention his perfect attendance record for the last six months here at Barker’s Stop-N-Go. More importantly, he doesn’t mention that he didn’t steal the money and that the bank drop for his last shift was actually a few dollars over. There were plenty of other likely culprits who should have been fired instead of him. Her boyfriend Brian, the felon with a mile-long track record of theft and aggravated larceny, just for one example.
“It’s okay,” he says, walking toward the clock with his manila timecard.
She snatches the timecard from his hand and says, “I’ll take care of it, good luck.”
A brief, cool silence wells between them. He begins to open his mouth, but instead smiles and walks out of the door. The doorbell chimes with his departure. He shoves his hands in his pockets and buries his chin in his gray hoodie, as if it were cold. The wind rustles his shiny-black shoulder-length hair, as the sidewalk seems to propel him down the street to his apartment.
***
“You’re joking…right?” says Carlos.
“No.”
Carlos leans back in the tan, leather sofa and stubs out his cigarillo. His hair is dark and long like Harveys and they are often mistaken for brothers. He props up his feet on Harvey’s shiny, mahogany coffee table. Little flakes of dried mud thread the lining of his boot soles and fall out intact, on the surface of the coffee table.
“Of course you’re not,” Carlos says, shaking his head.
“It was bound to happen,” Harvey says.
Harvey rolls over and curls up on his black, metal futon and clicks on the television. His eyes glaze over.
“Oh my god. You always say that. How many jobs have did this to you in the past two years?”
“Hmm, don’t know. You heard back from that diner?” says Harvey.
“Don’t change the subject on me.”
“Okay.”
Carlos sighs and lets his feet drop, littering the polished, wood floor with more clumps of crud from his boots. He sighs at Harvey and lights another cigarillo.
“No,” Carlos says, as he exhales a big cloud of blue-gray smoke toward Harvey.
“What?”
“I want you to change the subject,” says Carlos.
“Huh?”
“I want you to haggle me about my jobs.”
Harvey clicks off the television. He rolls over to Carlos and says, “Okay, how is your job going? And have you heard back from that diner yet?”
“Harvey, you’re really something.”
“What?”
“I haven’t had a job for two years dude. I haven’t had a job since I’ve lived with you.”
“Oh.”
“Don’t say oh.”
“Okay.”
“Jesus, say whatever you want,” Carlos says, lighting the edge of the cigarillo box with his Zippo. Green-bluish flames slowly rise from one of its corners.
“But you just said not to say it.”
The flames rise higher, engulfing the entire cigarillo box. Carlos gasps and lets it drop on the seat of the leather couch. Harvey and Carlos watch the box for a time until it finally smolders out, leaving a charred square mark on the nice leather.
“I should have had it upholstered with that stain resistant stuff,” says Harvey.
Carlos laughs. Harvey rolls back over and faces the television. He clicks it on again.
“Dude,” says Carlos.
“What?”
“I just told you that I’ve basically been sponging off of you for the last two years and I just burned a hole in your fifteen-hundred-dollar leather sofa.”
“Ah, don’t worry. You’ll find a job.” Harvey says.
“No, I won’t. I don’t like to work and I want to sponge off you for the rest of my life.”
“Oh yeah?”
“For fuck sake, grow some fucking balls will you!”
Harvey clicks off the television, but continues staring away from Carlos, watching the blank screen.
“What are you getting at,” Harvey says, still staring at the blank screen.
“I just burned a hole in your sofa and you blame yourself for not getting a stain resistant one, like it would matter anyway. My point is dude, you never take initiative. And you let people walk all over you and then you blame yourself. You’re like some kind of eternal scapegoat.”
“Hmm, you think so?”
“When you worked for that oil change place and your boss’s wife got mad because he spent every weekend at the bar, he blamed it on you. And you just sat there and took the rap for it, and didn’t even stand up for yourself when he fired you just to make her happy. And this is just one of the many examples.”
“She didn’t believe him.”
“Of course she didn’t, but that’s not the point. She wanted to believe him. People don’t want to believe it’s their fault and they’ll look for anyone or anything to blame for their misery. And for some strange reason you always seem to show up in the nick of time. You’ve been like this since I’ve known you.”
Harvey rolls over and faces Carlos.
Carlos continues, “My dad always said society has always been built on two classes of people, the oppressors and the downtrodden. It’s been keeping the earth spinning since Cain and Abel.”
Harvey says, “It’s the only thing I'm good at.”
Carlos picks up an empty cigarillo box from underneath the coffee table, and lights a corner of it. He says, “No, you’re not good at it. With all due respect, even Jesus got something out of it.”
Blue-green flames engulf the box, filling the air with its pungent odor. Harvey strains a soft sigh from his lungs. Carlos drops the box on the coffee table. They watch it burn.
“So burning down my apartment will make me more assertive?”
“You should start a business,” says Carlos.
The box finally smolders out, gray and black flakes of ash litter the table.
Carlos continues, “You should put an ad in the paper and say something like this, is your wife haggling you about a drug problem, did you screw up at work? Don’t take the rap, call me. No problem is too large for me to become a patsy. Reasonable rates, call me at…”
“You were always creative, Carlos.”
Carlos’s eyes widen, a smile plays at the corner of his lips.
“Dude, no, this would be cool! I mean some people might think it's a joke. But who knows, maybe someone will actually call. Would you be down for it?”
“I guess.”
“Cool, just give me some money so I can put the ad in the paper.”
Two weeks go by without a call. One morning the cordless phone rings. Carlos answers it.
“Was your ad a joke?”
“Huh? Oh, the ad. No, no, it’s for real.”
“I don’t want to talk over the phone, can you meet me downtown at the bridge?”
“Sure.”
Carlos puts the phone back on the receiver and nudges Harvey, who is snoring, fast asleep on his futon.
***
Days turn into weeks, and Harvey slowly gathers clients. One week he was the alleged supplier of Percocets and Oxycontin for the husband of an embittered wife. It didn’t solve his drug addiction but it bought him enough time to find another excuse. The husband told his wife that Harvey had been arrested and that their troubles were over. Harvey was paid to call her and confirm this, and to apologize for turning him on to the pills.
Another week he allegedly, accidentally burned down a coffee shop so the owner could collect insurance on his failed business. Harvey received a hefty chunk of the claim, less Carlos’s cut, of course.
One of the last assignments, before the calls started petering off, was to take the rap for a better who had welched on a horse race outside of Louisville. Days before the actual race he had already planned on running if he lost and made all of the arrangements with Carlos, who furnished the man with a duplicate of Harvey’s driver license.
“Dude, you’re like Jesus, except with a bank account,” Carlos says, arranging a new, red, leather sofa. The old leather sofa is gone.
Harvey lies on the futon and clicks the television on.
“Dude, aren’t you tired of that old rusty futon.”
“No.”
“You should live a little, you’ve got plenty of cheddar now. Who would’ve ever thought you could turn blame and guilt into a business?” says Carlos.
Carlos plants his feet on the new, glass coffee table and continues, “Wait, organized religion has already been doing that for thousands of years. I guess I'm not as original as I thought.”
Carlos pulls out the last cigarillo in the box and lights it. He says, “I thought you were going to pick up some things from Barker’s.”
“Oh, sorry.”
Harvey lifts himself off the futon and grabs his hoodie. He pulls it over his head, tangling his long hair in a heap. He grabs his keys and pats down his pockets. He looks to Carlos.
“Here man,” Carlos says, reaching into his pocket. He throws his own wallet to Harvey.
Carlos says, “I think it’s my turn anyway. But don't lose my wallet, and don't spend too much.”
Marissa looks up from counting money as she hears the bells on the door chime, and stares Harvey down. Brian peeks around the corner from a back room where the safe is kept. Harvey wanders the aisles, looking at everything and nothing.
Finally, he comes to the counter. Marissa rings up his hot chocolate and two boxes of cigarillos and tosses them on the counter. She pulls out a plastic bag and tosses it at Harvey and says, “Bag it yourself, I’m busy.”
Harvey leaves the bag on the counter and walks out. He walks behind Barker’s and unravels the cellophane on the box, and pulls out a cigarillo. He pats his pockets for a lighter and realizes he doesn’t have one. Brian comes out of the metal door next to him, smoking a cigarette.
He looks at Harvey and hands him a lighter.
“Thanks.”
“That’s the least I could do for you,” Brian says, chuckling.
Harvey takes a drag and gags. He coughs, and coughs, his eyes dripping with tears. Brian laughs at him. Suddenly, Brian looks down the road, up to the sky. Billows of black smoke swirl as high as he can see.
“Wow, look.”
Harvey stops coughing and looks up, his eyes watering less now. He drops his coffee and boxes of cigarillos and dashes toward the smoke. Red and orange flames lick the walls, completely engulfing his apartment. Embers pop this way and that way, like shooting stars. Someone screams from inside.
Harvey dashes toward his front door, which creaks and falls forward when he is five feet away. A gust of fire and wind shoot out from behind it. Harvey falls to the ground. He quickly pulls himself up and tries to run in, but the smoke is too thick to see and it is too hot. He coughs and trips on something, stumbling on top of the burning door.
Sirens wail in the distance and a dark car with tinted windows peels off down the road.
Two months later Harvey stands behind a counter and rings up an order, smoking a cigarillo. His hair is cut short and slicked back with a nice sheen.
The customer, a young brunette woman with a Monroe piercing says, “So, are you finally acclimating to the country of California?”
Harvey chuckles, and bags her carton of cigarettes. He hands her the bag and says, “Well, it’s definitely different than Kentucky. I think the women here are prettier too.”
“Wow, you're cute and not a bad liar. You'll be right at home here in LA...” she says, smiling and looking at the nametag pinned to his frock, “...Carlos.”
“You like Shoe Gazer music? Me and some friends are going to hit Hotel Café this weekend,” Harvey says.
She smiles, and scribbles her number on the back of the receipt. She hands it to him.
“Maybe,” she says, still smiling.
- FADE IN:
- MARK and THOMAS sit at small table looking out over the busy street.
- The street is crammed with upscale boutiques and designer restaurants.
- Mark sips his drink slowly, and both of the men slowly survey the street.
- JAY walks towards them, flip-flops slapping the sidewalk as he speaks animatedly with KELSEY whose flip-flops softly slap the concrete in accompaniment.
- She wears a dark tank top and a brightly-colored sarong that swirls around her feet.
- JAY
- So yeah man, it was one of those killer days, dude. Rode in on the sickest wave. And I was sitting there on the beach later, and I found this tiny shell.
- He sighs.
- JAY
- It was so beautiful, dude, so perfect, and like...the intricacy of it man. I totally saw the face of God. I mean, yeah. God's face, right there on the beach.
- Jay looks over and sees Mark and Thomas watching him.
- He roots around in his pockets and tosses an object at Thomas.
- JAY
- Think fast dude!
- Thomas grabs the object out of the air.
- It's a tiny shell; beautiful in its detail.
- JAY
- Have some God in your life man. Dude, Kelsey, the face of God.
- Kelsey nods as they pass Mark and Thomas.
- Mark looks at Thomas and grins, rolling his eyes.
- Thomas nods in agreement.
- Mark spots the waiter and waves for him.
- Thomas looks down into his open palm and stares at the shell for a moment and his eyes widen in wonder.
- Mark spins back around breaking the moment, and Thomas quickly shoves the shell into his pocket.
- FADE TO BLACK.
- FADE IN:
- ROBIN sits cross-legged on his couch, his loose pajama pants flowing comfortably over the edge of the cushions.
- He glances over at a flip calender whose large red numbers show that it is the 21st of October.
- A home video is playing on his tv, on mute.
- He considers the screen, then picks up the remote and slowly turns on the sound.
- The camera is focused on ANNIE, a laughing young woman, slowly placing the last of her supplies on a yacht, as it bobs gently on its mooring.
- A group of friends stands around the dock.
- She turns.
- ANNIE
- That's it! I'm ready.
- She moves around the circle hugging everyone.
- FRIEND'S VOICE (OS)
- Where are you going to go?
- ANNIE
- I have no idea. That's what's so great. I'm just going. I have to go.
- She reaches the camera person, and the camera bobs dizzily as she hugs him and holds him for a long moment.
- ANNIE
- You can still come.
- ROBIN
- I can't.
- ANNIE
- Shhh. Can't is a bad word. Just come.
- ROBIN
- I can't...I mean, what happens to school, what happens to my plans?
- ANNIE
- They'll still all be here.
- ROBIN
- We talked about this Annie. I'll be here when you get back. I'll wait as long as it takes.
- She steps back and the camera captures her face, the wind whipping tendrils of hair around her cheeks.
- ANNIE
- Bye Robin.
- She steps back, then jumps onto the boat with a smooth motion, her small earrings dancing.
- She waves to her friends, who cheer, and begins casting the boat off.
- Robin grabs the remote and places the video on mute again.
- Annie turns to the camera and yells something, and waves.
- Robin continues to sit on the couch, staring at the images.
- He clutches an old newspaper whose headline reads "Young Sailor Killed in Autumn Storm Off Cape Horn."
- FADE TO BLACK.
- FADE IN:
- Anna sits, feet dangling off a cliff as she stares at the mountains rising in front of her.
- A camera dangles from her neck.
- She flips her hair out of her face, somehow having managed to stay perfectly groomed despite the long hike.
- BROM stands behind her, and his t-shirt streaked with sweat and his tan shorts dusty from the trail.
- He plays with the settings on her camera, raises it, and studies the landscape in front of him.
- He hits the shutter and then studies the LCD screen for the results.
- Brom sighs loudly.
- ANNA
- Still not getting it?
- BROM
- I don't know what I have to do.
- ANNA
- I quit trying.
- BROM
- What?
- ANNA
- With stuff like this.
- She waves his hand at the beautiful landscape.
- ANNA
- You get so busy trying to capture the moment that you lose it. Then you have cruddy pictures and cruddy memories. Besides, I suck at capturing landscapes.
- BROM
- I hear it's all in the lens.
- ANNA
- Probably.
- Brom hangs the camera around his neck and sits next to Anna.
- BROM
- Fine, let's enjoy the moment.
- ANNA
- Oh yeah, you sound like you're full of joy.
- BROM
- Stupid picture. Hey! Why do you still carry your camera if you've quit trying to capture these moments?
- She grins at him.
- BROM
- Let me see that.
- He pulls the camera from her and over her head.
- ANNA
- Ow!
- BROM
- Not sorry.
- He turns the camera on and flips on the display.
- A beautiful picture of the landscape sits on the screen.
- BROM
- What? You hypocrite!
- Anna keeps grinning.
- ANNA
- How about we enjoy that moment?
- He stares sulkily at his own mediocre shot, until she playfully punches him in the arm.
- BROM
- Fine, enjoying moment, Ms. I-don't-capture-moments-on-my-camera.
- She laughs and raises her camera and takes a shot.
- FADE TO BLACK.
- FADE IN:
- Jerry kneels in front of the couch, his head buried in the cushions.
- He lifts his head up.
- JERRY
- Come on God, I mean, if you really exist, why wouldn't you want to prove it? And besides, I've got some real issues you could help clear up.
- He looks up at the ceiling, where a ceiling fan slowly rotates, and shakes his head.
- The doorbell rings and he pushes himself up to his feet and walks over to the front door.
- Jerry opens the door, and finds a LITTLE GIRL staring up at him.
- JERRY
- Uh, kid, sorry, I'm not buying anything.
- The girl cocks her head to the side, studying him, then walks past him into the house.
- She jumps onto the couch, crossing her legs beneath small body.
- JERRY
- Hey, no, no, no. You can't be here, your mommy wouldn't like that very much. Neither would your daddy. Oh, God, your daddy...you need to go now little girl.
- LITTLE GIRL
- You called, so I came.
- JERRY
- What?
- LITTLE GIRL
- You called, I...
- JERRY
- Yeah, I'm getting that. What are you talking about?
- LITTLE GIRL
- You wanted to know if I existed.
- Jerry steps back.
- The little girl pats the couch.
- LITTLE GIRL
- Sit.
- She looks at him, her blue-flecked amber eyes penetrating.
- Jerry moves slowly to a chair next to the couch and sits.
- JERRY
- Who are you?
- The little girl just looks at him again, and tilts her head.
- JERRY
- Seriously?
- LITTLE GIRL
- You should take your shoes off.
- Jerry hurriedly slips out of his shoes.
- JERRY
- But, I thought you'd be, different? I mean, you're a little girl, no offense.
- LITTLE GIRL
- You couldn't deal with anything else.
- JERRY
- Come on.
- LITTLE GIRL
- You're not really ready for that, the terror of that.
- JERRY
- And Moses was?
- The girl smiles.
- LITTLE GIRL
- Just a bit. Have you fallen through nebula, felt solar dust rush across your back? Have you knelt and spun a cellular membrane through your fingers?
- JERRY
- I just want to see a bit more, I'm not asking to be you.
- LITTLE GIRL
- Jerry.
- He is caught by her eyes and she looks into his again.
- JERRY
- Ok.
- The little girl hops off the couch, and walks over to him.
- Jerry pulls back slightly.
- She reaches up on her tiptoes and kisses him on the cheek.
- LITTLE GIRL
- I love you.
- She walks to the door, walks outside it, and starts closing it.
- Jerry rushes over and pulls the door back open, but there is no one in sight.
- JERRY
- Hey, what about my problems? You could have stuck around long enough to give me a little wisdom on that.
- A little girl's giggle rings in the air around him, and he spins looking for the source, but can't find it.
- He stops spinning and walks to the couch.
- He touches the place where she sat, then sits next to it, staring at the spot.
- FADE TO BLACK.
- FADE IN:
- ANDI lies, face-down, on a tattoo table, her shirt rolled up to her mid back.
- RAJ is tattooing an intricate design at the center of her back.
- It is composed of tiny symbols that trace her spinal cord.
- RAJ
- So Jay recommended me?
- ANDI
- Yeah, he really liked your work.
- RAJ
- Man, that's pretty high praise.
- ANDI
- It is; he's done all my other work.
- RAJ
- Really? That's awesome dude, I love the loyalty.
- ANDI
- We have history. But he's still recovering, and this one, it kind of needed to be done now.
- RAJ
- Yeah, that accident, man...bummer. You have some real beautiful work, he's done a great job. It's really not traditional either.
- ANDI
- Yeah, I usually design mine. Jay's done a few, or helped tweak some anyway.
- RAJ
- Very cool. And these symbols? I see them in a lot of your tats.
- ANDI
- My personal alphabet.
- RAJ
- Neato! What was your first?
- ANDI
- The one on my arm there, the flower.
- Raj traces down the half sleeve on her arm, and find it ends in a band of red symbols, wrapped around an abstract, purple flower.
- He exhales slowly.
- RAJ
- That's gorgeous.
- ANDI
- Yeah, they each have a story.
- Raj chuckles.
- RAJ
- That's the way it should be. So what's the story behind this one?
- ANDI
- I got it the morning after I was raped.
- RAJ
- Wow.
- He pauses.
- They sit in silence for a long moment.
- She looks over at him after a bit.
- ANDI
- Thanks.
- Raj nods silently, and then presses the needle against her skin, beginning again.
- FADE TO BLACK.
- FADE IN:
- LAUREN sits on her couch, a trash can in front of her with a box of tissues on one side, a large lighter on the other side, and a pile of letters, poems, and pictures on the floor.
- She picks up the first letter and rotates it in her hands.
- She unfolds it, starts to read it, then shakes her head and grabs the lighter.
- She lights the letter and tosses it into the trash can.
- Grabbing letters and poems, she goes faster and faster.
- Smoke begins to rise from the trash can and swirl dangerously around the fire alarm.
- She slows as she reaches the first picture, and stares for a long moment. She stands close to JORDAN in the picture; he's looking away, laughing, she's looking at him.
- She inhales, and lights the picture and then adds more pictures to the pyre.
- She grabs the last picture and begins to light it as the smoke washes closer and closer to the alarm.
- Lauren hears laughter and looks up.
- Jordan is walking past, hair messy, eyes on fire as he jokes with a friend.
- She stares dumbly for a moment, then reaches into the smoke, grabbing for the last picture.
- She rescues a scrap of it, and holds it against her chest, Jordan's laughing eyes seeming to survey the apartment from the picture.
- The alarm screams and the apartment sprinkler goes off.
- Jordan and his friends turn, looking through the window.
- Lauren sits, drenched, clutching the picture, staring silently back.
- FADE TO BLACK.
- FADE IN:
- DIANA and BEN walk slowly down the sidewalk looking around at the variety of houses in the neighborhood.
- DIANA
- We should do this more often.
- BEN
- Yeah, I like just wandering through random places. Oh, look at that one, I'd love to live there.
- He points to a small, neat bungalow tucked behind several trees.
- DIANA
- Not bad. I like that one.
- She points to a boxy, more modern house with a large yard and massive picture window.
- BEN
- I could deal with that, yeah.
- He sneaks a look at her and smiles.
- They pass a house with a large porch.
- An OLD COUPLE sits together looking out over the street, holding hands.
- BEN
- Oh, that's exactly where I want to be when I'm that old.
- DIANA
- Really? God...
- BEN
- What?
- DIANA
- You're one of those romantics.
- BEN
- Well, you've known me for long enough.
- DIANA
- It's so stupid, seriously, the whole thing. "Oh I want to grow old with someone." I want to be comfortable, independent, and certainly not tied down do some old geezer.
- Ben steps back a bit, hurt.
- Diana doesn't notice.
- BEN
- Hey, you shouldn't ever close the door on the possibility that you might want to grow old with someone one day.
- DIANA
- Uh, yeah, I can. Consider that door slammed.
- She keeps walking forward and he pauses, thoughts flitting across his face.
- He watches her as she keeps walking.
- DIANA
- You coming?
- Ben looks up, and pauses.
- BEN
- Yeah, I'm coming.
- He shakes his head, his face returning to normal, his eyes still distant.
- FADE TO BLACK.
- FADE IN:
- The factory floor is covered with hundreds of neatly ordered cubicles.
- From above, they seem almost abstract, with everything so neat and identical.
- On one wall, large screens blast sound and image into the open faces of SMALL CHILDREN, their heads covered with large headphones.
- Some of the children cower, trying to hide from the barrage.
- Further along, the cubicles are filled with OLDER CHILDREN, and then with TEENAGERS.
- The teenagers stare at the screens, blank as images pour into them, only one or two of them flinching.
- SOLDIERS dressed in terrifying gas masks and full body armor pull the teenagers from their cubicles, stripping them naked and forcing them onto a conveyor belt.
- Large machines whistle back and forth, rotating saws and welding sparks flying.
- The machines begin to seal them into armor, skin sizzling as the suits are fused into their skin.
- They do not flinch, but stare numbly forward, captivated by the screens that surround the conveyor belt.
- As they exit the belt, masks are melted into their faces and they are handed large rifles.
- The last of the batch, A SMALL TEENAGER, watches in horror and pulls away from the soldiers as they attempt to strip her.
- She runs hard, her soft, bare feet pounding the concrete.
- The newly minted soldiers turn as one and raise their weapons, firing a barrage at her, she ducks down, tries to get away, and then is caught in the rain of bullets.
- The soldiers do not pause, simply, turn swivel, and march to their mysterious destinations, leaving her bloody body on top of the hard cement stained with the old blood of past misfits.
- FADE TO BLACK.
- 1.
He finds that he weeps
At strange times, in strange places
Just because he can.
- 2.
Orange blossom sundae
Bamboo gardens with strange scents
A girl with soft eyes.
- 3.
She circles her dreams
Hunting wild analogies
Lost in metaphor.
- FADE IN:
- ERIN sits on the bed in a flowing evening gown admiring ROBERT.
- He stands in front of a full length mirror trying to fix his bow tie.
- He is wearing a knee-length black kilt.
- ERIN
- I do love men in skirts.
- ROBERT
- Kilt...
- ERIN
- You know you'd wear a skirt and you'd love it.
- ROBERT
- So true. But what's this about men in skirts. How about just man in skirt, thank you?
- ERIN
- I do love my man in a skirt.
- ROBERT
- Better.
- She saunters up behind him.
- He watches the approach in the mirror, a smile tugging at his lips.
- She grabs his shoulders and turns him around, then begins fixing the tie.
- ERIN
- Well, I'm glad you've stuck around then.
- ROBERT
- Kilt...
- ERIN
- And oh! the things I have to put up with.
- She finishes the tie and gives him a long kiss and tugs at the row of earrings in his left ear.
- ERIN
- You ready to go?
- ROBERT
- Your parents are going to die...I don't think they expected a skirt when they told me to come dressed to the nines.
- She grins at him and he laughs.
- They link arms and leave the room.
- FADE TO BLACK.
- FADE IN:
- ARANA sits cuddled close to GREG on a couch.
- His left arm is tucked tight around her waist, his left holds an open book.
- GREG
- "She was a talker, wasn't she?" Bobby Lee said, sliding down the ditch with a yodel.
"She would of been a good woman," The Misfit said, "if it had been somebody there to shoot her every minute of her life."
"Some fun!" Bobby Lee said.
"Shut up, Bobby Lee" The Misfit said. "It's no real pleasure in life.
- Arana nudges Greg.
- ARANA
- Greg, I gotta go.
- GREG
- But we haven't had a chance to really unpack this.
- ARANA
- You know I love Flannery, but I seriously need to go babe...hungry.
- GREG
- Fine.
- She nuzzles his neck.
- ARANA
- Aww, you're going to miss me.
- GREG
- Yeah. Um, probably not a good idea.
- She stops nuzzling.
- ARANA
- Right. Sorry.
- She stands up to leave; he stands with her and pulls her close.
- She leans in to kiss him.
- They both pause.
- ARANA
- Not tonight.
- Greg leans in anyway.
- She licks her lips, revealing, long, razor-sharp incisors.
- GREG
- Right.
- ARANA
- Sorry. You know, we could end this all right now.
- GREG
- Yeah, not really ready for that.
- ARANA
- Yeah.
- She leans in closer, teeth bared, then stops.
- ARANA
- Sorry, sorry, I'm off.
- She turns and Greg touches her cheek.
- She turns back, smiles, then slips quietly out the door.
- FADE TO BLACK.
- FADE IN:
- BRYAN leans against the wall of the supermarket, watching as people pass him, entering and exiting through the automatic glass doors next to him.
- He check his watch.
- MARJORIE VAN ELLS, A small, older woman limps slowly out of the store, clutching a few small bags.
- She turns towards Bryan and sizes him up.
- He fights a grin, seeing the mischievous spark in her eyes.
- MARJORIE
- Hey you! Mind helping?
- The grin escapes, and Bryan rushes over to her, smiling.
- He grabs her bags, and they move slowly towards the parking lot, Marjorie limping along behind him.
- MARJORIE
- Well, isn't that nice? Some chivalry left in you...you made me ask, but at least you moved when I said something.
- BRYAN
- Hello to you too. I'm Bryan.
- MARJORIE
- Call me Ms. Van Ells.
- BRYAN
- Well Mrs. Van Ells, I'm glad to help.
- MARJORIE
- I'm sure you are.
- They reach an old station wagon.
- MARJORIE
- Here we are, just put those down.
- Bryan places them next to the ground, and sees that the bags aren't full of groceries, but are heavy with old newspapers.
- He stands, then begins to turn around.
- MARJORIE
- You feel that?
- Marjorie has moved in closer, and there is a cold, hard object pressed into his ribs.
- MARJORIE
- Good. That's a little pistol there. One of my favorites. So pull that wallet out of your pocket and hand it over, slowly.
- BRYAN
- You've got to be kidding me.
- Marjorie shrugs.
- MARJORIE
- Everyone's gotta eat kid.
- He pulls his wallet out, and reaching awkwardly behind his back, hands it her.
- She pulls it from him and quietly slips away.
- Bryan waits for a long moment, then slowly turns around.
- Marjorie is nowhere to be found.
- ELLEN sees him from across the parking lot and comes running.
- ELLEN
- Hey! There you are...I was waiting by the front like you said...but..what happened?
- Bryan shakes his head.
- BRYAN
- Huh...
- ELLEN
- Bryan?
- He shakes his head again and begins walking back to the super market entrance.
- FADE TO BLACK.
- 1.
Caress warm, brick wall
Hide your secrets on its skin
Embrace sigh and stone.
- 2.
I wander the lane
Cherry blossoms rain on me
I'm lost, don't find me.
- 3.
She sleeps on the couch,
Urban refugee, fragile
I think I'm in love.
- FADE IN:
- LONNIE, dressed casually in shorts and white t-shirt, carefully places dominoes in a neat pattern on top of his coffee table.
- EMILY and STAN watch with some amusement.
- Lonnie finishes and flicks one of the dominoes.
- It falls, and rows of dominoes begin to fall neatly, the wave of falling plastic weaving and winding until the last piece hits the wood with a loud "thwack!" Only a few errant pieces are left upright.
- LONNIE
- There! That's what I meant.
- Emily snickers.
- STAN
- And she actually agrees with you, but seriously? You spent all that time to make your little point. I got it before your cute display.
- LONNIE
- It needed a visual.
- STAN
- I'm sure it did.
- LONNIE
- Don't patronize me. We take away one thing, and everything will come crashing down.
- STAN
- So we take away a bit of Habeas Corpus...for the safety of the people, mind you; and next thing you know, women can't vote again?
- LONNIE
- It's not just a bit, and yes, it could happen.
- STAN
- You're being over dramatic; and well, who needs women voting anyway?
- He grins.
- EMILY
- Hey! Misogynistic jerk alert!
- STAN
- Only took you three seconds that time.
- EMILY
- Oh just you wait until next time. You'll be counting stars not seconds on your fingers.
- LONNIE
- The point is, we need to work on getting our rights back before it's too late...we have a split second to hold on before it hits the next thing, and then they'll all crumble.
- Stan starts counting on his fingers.
- EMILY
- What are you doing?
- Stan smiles lopsidedly at her.
- STAN
- Just being a jerk.
- The door explodes into splinters as a team of police storm the living room.
- Emily is hooded and dragged towards the front door.
- Lonnie fights, trying to pull her back.
- He looks over at Stan who stands at the center of the storm, untouched.
- Stan nods slightly, and Lonnie's eyes widen in understanding.
- He stops fighting and a black bag is slammed over his head.
- A ski-masked AGENT claps Stan on the back.
- AGENT
- Thanks for the tip.
- Stan nods, then kneels in front of the coffee table.
- He picks up a domino, rubbing its smooth surface.
- He turns to leave, flicking the domino across the table. It hits the last remaining dominoes knocking them down one by one.
- FADE TO BLACK.
- FADE IN:
- AMBER and LUKE walk slowly across the grass of the park's large, central meadow.
- LUKE
- Please, you don't really have to do this.
- AMBER
- I do. I really, really do.
- LUKE
- But what if it's not Him? How do you know?
- AMBER
- Oh, it's Her for sure.
- LUKE
- See, you keep spouting heresy like that, the Fathers will kill you.
- AMBER
- I'm sure they're going to kill me anyway.
- LUKE
- How can you say that so calmly?
- AMBER
- Maybe because of me, some little girl will be inspired to stand up, and then another and another. Who knows what Her purposes are? But I trust Her.
- LUKE
- Can you just let go of those old fashioned ideas about equality? It's so 21st century, not to mention heretical.
- AMBER
- You're starting to repeat yourself.
- They find themselves at a corner of the park, packed with people crowded around various benches, on which speakers preach their many agendas.
- Heavily armed police officers pace the perimeter of the area.
- AMBER
- It's my street-corner prophet moment. All I ask is that you remember, and then tell your daughter, and make sure she tells her's. It's His will.
- LUKE
- He can't be both!
- AMBER
- Why not? Right...heresy.
- She claims space on an empty bench, and climbs onto it.
- A woman daring to take a speaker's bench elicits gasps from the crowd around her.
- AMBER
- I bring a message from God. She says "Repent!"
- The crowd roars in anger, drowning her words.
- Luke tries to protect her, but is shoved aside by the mob, who grasp for Amber.
- As she is pulled down by the crowd, aided by the two eager officers, she raises a fist in the air, and yells about the roar.
- AMBER
- God is a girl!
- She is pulled down by the mob and disappears under a wave of fists.
- FADE TO BLACK.
- FADE IN:
- ROBERT stands outside the door of the house, holding a small, neatly arranged bouquet of roses.
- He shuffles, and looks at the bouquet, then shakes his head and tosses it behind the bushes around the porch.
- He closes his eyes for a moment, then straightens, and rings the doorbell.
- JAMIE (OS)
- Just a minute!
- Footsteps travel towards the door, ringing louder, and then the door opens, with a soft whine.
- Jamie looks through the screen and stops.
- Robert looks up at her.
- JAMIE
- You.
- ROBERT
- Hi Jamie.
- JAMIE
- Why are you here?
- ROBERT
- I came to say sorry.
- JAMIE
- You think that'll change anything?
- ROBERT
- I don't know, I thought...
- JAMIE
- Glad you started doing that.
- ROBERT
- Can I come in?
- JAMIE
- No, I don't think so.
- ROBERT
- I understand.
- JAMIE
- No, you really don't.
- ROBERT
- I'm so sorry.
- JAMIE
- What are you really here for? Are you here because you truly feel sorry, or are you just here because it's the next thing on your list. Are you trying to fix your karma? Is this for me, or for you?
- ROBERT
- I really hurt you.
- JAMIE
- Gee, really?
- ROBERT
- Look, can you just let me finish?
- JAMIE
- Oh, so it is just a list, just something you need to get done, just something you need to finish. Get off my porch, Robert.
- She sees that Robert's hands are shaking.
- She reaches for the handle of the screen door, then reconsiders.
- ROBERT
- I don't know, I don't know, I don't know what to do. I'm so sorry.
- JAMIE
- That doesn't help me. That changes nothing. Go take your sorry someplace else.
- Robert slumps and lifts his head, revealing his tears.
- Jamie touches the door handle, then pushes it open and puts a hand on his shoulder.
- JAMIE
- Ok, ok, it's ok.
- ROBERT
- No, it's not.
- JAMIE
- You're right. But I'm going to try.
- ROBERT
- I don't deserve it.
- JAMIE
- Still going to try.
- ROBERT
- I raped you.
- Jamie's jaw tightens.
- JAMIE
- A fistful of sorries wouldn't have helped you; but you're here at my door, crying. So I can try to forgive you. Now please, please go, I don't ever want to see you again.
- Robert nods, and turns, walking away from her.
- He gets into his car, looking back once, then speeds off.
- Jamie steps onto the porch, and sits down, her lips tight.
- She looks left, and sees the discarded bouquet.
- She picks the bouquet up and dusts it off.
- She stands up, holding the roses, and turns to the door, tears tracing a quiet path down her cheeks.
- FADE TO BLACK.
- FADE IN:
- JAMES FORREST III walks purposefully past large tanks and machinery that towers above him.
- A PLANT EMPLOYEE leads him to a tank and draws a small amount of water from it, pouring it carefully into a small cup.
- He hands the cup to James, who carefully smells the water, swirling it in the cup before he takes a sip.
- He swishes it around his mouth, then spits it out into the cup
- He nods to the employee, who discards the cup.
- James is seated on the couch in his living room, an elegantly-decorated space.
- He nods at the camera.
- JAMES
- A lot of people don't understand what I do, or why I do it, but I think we're living in an era when people will become more receptive to the concept.
- He reaches down and pulls up an old daguerreotype photograph of a man in a bowler hat carefully sniffing a large decanter filled with water.
- JAMES
- My grandfather, James Forrest, brought the practice out of the shadows in the early part of the 20th century. Most believed he was wasting his time and he was mocked to the day he died, but he never gave up. My father chose to be an undertaker because of the shame, but I vowed to continue my grandfather's legacy.
- James speaks animatedly with a few other Tasters.
- They swirl several glasses of water from a sample table, sipping, then carefully spitting into a large barrel.
- JAMES
- This is one of the best tap waters I've had in a while. There's this wonderful whisper of airiness and then the full body of it hits gently with hint of nothing.
- The Tasters around him nod in admiration.
- JAMES
- We look for several things when we are tasting. Absorption, how fast the liquid dissolves on the tongue; several hints and chords of flavor, and the depth of the body. There are a few other obscure factors, but, we really don't talk much about those.
- He fidgets.
- JAMES
- Some people like their waters with a bit of a stronger flavor. I hear the Michigan 28 series had a distinct oaky-nuttiness that some were quite fond of. Some even appreciated the mineral under-chords of the New Jersey 587. I really can't deal with those. When I taste, I look for the liquids with the strongest notes of emptiness. There's something fairly divine about nothingness.
- James selects two large water bottles and an employee carts them off.
- JAMES
- For the personal cellar.
- An employee behind him shakes his head in disbelief.
- JAMES
- I'm James Forrest III, and I'm a hydro-taster.
- FADE TO BLACK.
- FADE IN:
- JEROME leans against the wall of a bank, and cradles a chubby orange kitten with bright blue eyes.
- JEROME
- We are the end. This is how we, how we? What happens now?
- People pass him on the street, steering clear.
- JEROME
- How it ends. How it ends? I see fading stars. The land is dead.
- A WOMAN IN A BEAUTIFUL SKIRT passes him.
- JEROME
- Kiss me. Lips, lips, that kiss.
- She makes a face and moves quickly past.
- JEROME
- It's yours, your kingdom. Please, give me back my tears. Give them back.
- He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a fistful of tarnished medals and a crumpled military cap.
- JEROME
- My supplication...from my dead hands, to yours. It's your desert kingdom, for ever and ever under fading stars.
- He looks up to the bright blue sky and touches his face.
- JEROME
- Please give them back.
- He waits, but no tears come.
- JEROME
- So this is how it ends. This is how we end. This is, this is how it ends.
- He lets out a slow, ragged breath, pinched in pain, then his arm grows still.
- The medals slide to the ground, ringing as they hit the concrete.
- A PASSING CHILD, sneering, kicks one of the medals, and then kitten jumps from Jerome's arms, running to safety.
- The medal hits Jerome's chest, causing a resound hollow clank as it impacts against him.
- The boy stands back, fear spreading across his face, and he back away, then runs to his MOTHER.
- FADE TO BLACK.
- FADE IN:
- DAVE sits in his chair, twitching.
- He fidgets with his filmmaker name tag hanging around his neck.
- He looks up, and sees the opening sequence of a film start playing on the big screen.
- He stands up, excusing himself, and slips to the back of the room and out the door.
- He blinks in the bright lights of the lobby.
- ERIC, a white-haired man, approaches him and smiles.
- ERIC
- Hey Dave, your film playing?
- DAVE
- Couldn't take it.
- ERIC
- I used to do that too. You do know it's the best thing playing tonight?
- DAVE
- Thanks, I appreciate that.
- ERIC
- The truth.
- DAVE
- I can't deal with seeing it. But, I'm glad you liked it.
- ERIC
- They're going to love it.
- DAVE
- You know, I'm scared of...them. They'll love it, and I'll keep hearing about how they love it...and my head is going to swell, I'll become this arrogant, oh, I don't know.
- ERIC
- I won't let that happen.
- DAVE
- Oh, thanks.
- ERIC
- Sometimes you need to hear them. See that this little thing you did has touched them. This is your weekend, wear those laurels, but on Monday, move on.
- Dave nods.
- DAVE
- It's almost at the end, I can hear it.
- The music goes soft, then swells.
- The audience cheers, the sound muffled by the thick doors.
- Eric motions.
- ERIC
- Come on, let's get you those laurels.
- Dave takes a deep breath, then nods.
- Eric pulls open the door, and they enter the room the cheers swelling.
- FADE TO BLACK.
- Gina and I were under the Walking Bridge in downtown Chattanooga sitting next to our homemade Irish coffees, which were a lot more Irish than coffee.
We were sitting on the wooden planks of an empty, outdoor amphitheater, smoking cigarettes. She finally stubbed out her cigarette with her puffy, truck-driver fingers and popped the question.
It wasn’t exactly the question, I would have died right there. Still, for me it was close enough. It was a derivative of that question. The same way a wolf sniffs the air for the scent of blood to find prey, people will hint around to the question of marriage to feel out a potential mate, without actually asking the question directly.
“Ruben, what’s the longest relationship you’ve had,” she said.
“Almost four years."
She took a sip of her Irish coffee.
“Hmm, what was her name?"
I took a sip of my own whiskey-laden coffee to make it a little easier to discuss.
“Netflix.”
“What?”
“I joined Netflix almost four years ago.”
She spit up her coffee.
“Don’t spit up your whiskey, that’s alcohol abuse,” I said.
She smiled at me. Half of her front teeth were missing. If there were a missing link this hairy Neanderthal would have to be it.
“That’s why I always take you with me, you can turn any boring road trip into a feature film,” she said.
She was referring to me traveling along with her in the eighteen-wheeler across the country.
And she thought I was joking about my longest relationship, the poor thing. But my Netflix subscription was really the longest commitment I had ever made, and I didn’t even use my own credit card to subscribe. I used my mother’s check card and home address.
It’s not that I’m afraid of commitment. I’m just in complete awe of why people still actually believe in it.
Given enough time, eventually everything expires or collapses. Even the Universe will eventually collapse some day according to Hawking. It’s the Law of Entropy.
It works the same way on a microcosmic level. Everything has to eventually be replenished, replaced, reapplied for or simply forgotten. It seems pointless to get involved with anything when it never reciprocates and stays committed back. It’s even hard for me to be a good alcoholic because it requires a regular drinking schedule.
People get old and die, flowers wilt, groceries spoil, memberships expire and relationships end. Even a driver license doesn’t stay valid for more than six years in most states.
Speaking of a driver license, that’s my main criterion for dating. I won’t date a girl unless she has a valid driver’s license and a car. If she starts racking up too many points on her license then it’s over. I also won’t date a girl that has more than three front teeth. She has to be ugly enough to stop time because if she’s not, there’s a chance that she’ll eventually get the courage to look for someone else. Then I’d be out of transportation and my life would be over.
Finding Gina was like finding the Holy Grail of girls with no self-esteem because she also has a CDL license. That means we never have to stay in the same state for more than three weeks at a time.
“Seriously, what’s the longest you’ve been with someone,” she said.
I swished the coffee at the bottom of the cup and gulped it down.
“Do Fruit flies count?”
She rolled her eyes.
“Well, we need to get some sleep. LA is a long way,” she said.
We stumbled our way up the winding sidewalk that gradually ascends to the embankment of the Walking Bridge. She started up her big, red Dodge and dropped me off at the closest thing I have to a home, my mother’s house.
My mom gave me a duffel bag and pulled some clothes out of a closet. She handed me some socks, underwear, jeans, and a few T-shirts. I walked to the closet and looked through it.
“How’s your book doing,” she said, her left eye fluttering in spasms like a Hummingbird’s wings. She had a facial tick as long as I can remember.
She was referring to a self-published book I supposedly wrote, which was nothing more than a coil-bound notebook chalk full of sad details I ripped off from my own life.
Everything seems to be a rip-off of a rip-off somewhere down the line but this little journal was the only way for me to still pretend that I had some kind of connection. It was my last-ditch effort to pretend that I still had something solid and tangible to hold on to.
Even I needed to lie to myself every once in a while. And after she reminded me of the journal I scoured that entire closet for it and came up with nothing. I was pissed and tempted to stay until I found it.
“It’s doing good, mom. I just won the Pulitzer prize for fiction last week.”
Her eye fluttered faster, she walked over and gave me a hug.
“That’s my boy. I knew you were going to do something good. How is Jenny?”
“Gina you mean?”
“I’m sorry, they change every week though. I can’t keep up with them in my old age.”
“She’s doing good, we’re heading to LA in a few hours.”
“Bring me back a souvenir?”
I nodded and filled the duffel bag with a few more pairs of socks. When she wasn’t looking I stuffed a hundred dollar bill inside one of her shirt pockets in the closet.
I kissed her and left the house and finally managed to hitch a ride to a random dive bar.
I waded through the blue, smoky room and called Gina to let her know where to pick me up. When I sat back down next to my mangy duffel bag I felt eyes on me. I hadn’t shaved or showered in a while and I was walking around with a duffel bag, so who knows what they thought.
After several shots someone started singing Cat Power’s The Greatest in the karaoke booth. I continued drinking shots for some time, trying to soak up the music.
My stomach was growling. I should have eaten at my mother’s house and got some sleep for the trip instead of drinking here. These thoughts went through my head as the room spun and I crashed down on someone’s table.
The two guys said something and hoisted me up. They carried me out arm in arm and threw me out into an alleyway. The world was blurry around the edges and my throat felt like sandpaper. I leaned on a car to keep my balance and I heaved all over the hood. A few minutes later someone came out.
“Hey, get the fuck off my car you bum,” someone said.
I turned around. It was one of the guys who threw me out, only this time there were three more behind him. They took turns wearing a bulky Class ring, and punching me in the face.
I had never been in a fistfight before, so I underestimated how awkward it would be for four guys trying to keep their balance while they took turns beating the shit out of me. They stumbled over each other, tripped and grunted, trying to land that perfect punch on my face. I almost felt sorry for them. I contemplated walking into a blow to make it easier on them when someone hit me so hard the bloody ring flew off of his hand. It rolled down the street, clinking down a gutter.
Everything went black for a few seconds and the back of my head hit the pavement. Tires were squealing somewhere nearby. It was all over. As if beating me to a bloody mess wasn’t enough. I braced for the tires that would be rolling over me but instead I heard people yelling and then a crashing sound.
I looked up and there was Gina in her Dodge with that big, toothless grin. Behind her were three men lying around like toppled bowling pins. She jumped out of the truck and scooped me up with her big, grizzly arms. She hoisted me into her truck with ease. We heard sirens. She peeled out, pelting the back of the bar with gravel. We pulled onto the road and drove as far away as we could.
It’s times like these that make you feel bad for using someone. Here I was, hopeless and on the verge of extinction when she appears out of nowhere like some kind of sasquatch angel and saves me.
She handed me an old shirt and I wiped my forehead with it. Blood continued dripping down my face so I grabbed a bottle of Vodka from the floor and doused the shirt with it. I pressed it hard against my face. On the floorboard next to the Vodka bottle I saw my journal. I prayed she hadn’t read it.
She turned to me and smiled.
“Open the glove box,” she said.
With my free hand I twisted the notch and out popped another journal. My handwriting was inside. Funny, I don’t remember having two journals, I thought. Wait a minute.
She smiled at me again.
How could she?
As if she read my mind she said, ”Come on, did you think you were the only one?”
A Neanderthal had just outslicked me.
“What are you talking about,” I said, trying to play it off.
She laughed. She pulled a prescription bottle from her pocket. Percocets, good. I popped a few.
She said, “Who were you trying to kid, Ruben? You’re thirty-two, you smell horrible, you don't have a job, and you live with your mother. You’re a bum.”
My head throbbed. Shut up. Just shut up, I thought.
“And you're always broke,” she said.
I turned to her, still holding the shirt over half of my face.
She said, “Hey, we all have our criteria, right?”
She put her hand on my shoulder, and at that moment I fell in love for the first time in my life. I tossed our journals out of the window. We kept on driving.
- FADE IN:
- ANGIE spins on the balcony, dancing slowly to music playing from an old radio as it spits out crackling tunes.
- She grabs a colorful scarf and dances with it, the colors popping brightly against the dull sky.
- She spins, smiling through the scarf, lost in the music and the moment.
- There is a loud banging on the window, but she keeps spinning.
- She is lost somewhere in a different world.
- Her feet tap against the cracked floor of the balcony, stopping, turning, sliding.
- Her arms move sinuously in the air, and the scarf catches the breeze, blowing it around her face.
- She laughs out loud as she turns.
- The banging gets louder.
- The world stops.
- Angie has reached over and turned the music off.
- The light slides out of her eyes, and they seem to lose color.
- She ties the scarf to the balcony railing, and it's red tail trails off the edge, still dancing in the wind.
- She peers through the dirty screen.
- A large man stands in the room, unzipping his pants.
- He has already taken his shirt off, and stands in a sweat-stained t-shirt under a slowly whirling fan.
- She closes her eyes, trying to hold onto a moment already lost, then opens the door leading into the small room.
- She draws the curtains, leaving them slightly open.
- The man pushes her to the floor in front of him.
- FADE TO BLACK.
- FADE IN:
- SILVYA walks along the sidewalk, watching the world grow darker around her.
- She wears army boots, cargo pants and light dress over the pants. She has a small cap, under which most of her hair is tucked, though few strands poking out and trail down her face.
- She passes a MAN huddled in a torn, dirty blanket.
- He grabs at her pant cuffs.
- HOMELESS MAN
- Could you spare some change? I just need a little.
- SILVYA
- Hey, I don't have much change, but lemme see.
- She digs around her pockets, then pulls out two quarters and hands it to the man.
- HOMELESS MAN
- Thanks, thanks, God bless you.
- Silvya smiles at him, and continues walking.
- She crosses the street and keeps walking, looking into the windows she passes.
- Restaurants spill warm light onto the sidewalk and street and she looks into them, watching the eating habits of the rich and hungry.
- She walks on, and sees a WOMAN with long, filthy dreads standing next to a lamp post.
- The woman doesn't even speak, she just holds her hand out, unable to pull her eyes from the sidewalk.
- Silvya roots around in her pocket and finds four quarters.
- She walks to the woman, and takes her hand, placing the coins in her hand.
- The woman looks up slightly and Silvya smiles at her.
- HOMELESS WOMAN
- Thank you.
- SILVYA
- It's because you have beautiful eyes. Please don't hide them.
- The woman stares after Silvya.
- Silvya stops in front of a restaurant, considering.
- She stares through the window, watching a man carefully pick through a large salad.
- She pulls her eyes away from the food, and continues walking.
- She comes to a parking structure, and slips around the gate.
- She walks down the ramp into the lower level, and looking around quickly, slips into one of the darker corners.
- A blanket is stashed in the corner, along with a few odds and ins, and several bags.
- She sits on the cold cement, and empties her pockets.
- There are a few pens, some scraps of paper, and an oddly-shaped button.
- She places them to the side, then curls up under the blanket and tries to sleep.
- FADE TO BLACK.
- FADE IN:
- MARTY scans the rows of home decor, searching for the perfect vase.
- He bumps into ELLEN and spins around.
- MARTY
- Oh, I'm really sorry.
- ELLEN
- No worries.
- They return to their browsing, stealing occasional glances, until they catch each other peeking.
- MARTY
- You...?
- ELLEN
- That perfect item.
- MARTY
- So?
- ELLEN
- No worries.
- MARTY
- Blue, something, nice and navy-ish.
- ELLEN
- Highlight color? Red wall or something.
- MARTY
- Exactly, nice a warm...earthy.
- ELLEN
- I'm a big fan..
- MARTY
- Yeah, I love interior design.
- ELLEN
- No worries.
- MARTY
- Oh, I'm really sorry.
- ELLEN
- No worries.
- They turn away again, but don't really move anywhere, Marty looks back.
- MARTY
- Well...
- ELLEN
- No, I'd rather not.
- MARTY
- It'd be fun. We could compare interests. Trade stories...argue about movies?
- ELLEN
- I don't...
- MARTY
- I swear, no strings.
- ELLEN
- Not my thing.
- MARTY
- How about we toss Chomsky and Thoreau onto the pile, make it a healthy mix of agitation and anti-materialism?
- ELLEN
- Really?
- MARTY
- Yeah...
- ELLEN
- I do seem the type, don't I?
- MARTY
- Oh yeah...
- ELLEN
- How about...
- MARTY
- Thursday at 8:30, sounds perfect.
- ELLEN
- OK
- MARTY
Here's my number. Where...?
- ELLEN
- Ethiopian?
- MARTY
- The Rattlesnake.
- ELLEN
- Great. You...
- MARTY
- Marty.
- ELLEN
- Ellen. Well...
- MARTY
- Yeah, you have a good day too...see you on...
- ELLEN
- They turn away again, but don't really move anywhere, Marty looks back.
- FADE TO BLACK.
