The 365° Experiment

A Thank You Note

2009-01-01T01:30:00.000-08:00

It's been quite a year - I just wanted to thank everyone whose been involved in this project in some way or another. Thank you to everyone who read and encouraged us on our journey.

There are a few people I want to thank by name.

Eric, thanks so much for joining me in this crazy idea - I'm ridiculously happy that a script of yours was actually shot - what an amazing opportunity...may there be many more.

Marjorie, thanks for inspiring some of my favorite characters, being a thoughtful reader, and always having great critiques. You've managed to keep me in awe this year with your bravery - I hope some of those characters do you justice.

Kris, you always had a thoughtful comment and were always ready with a perspective I hadn't considered. You were always ready with a smirk, a retort, and a willingness to get lost in a story.

Lizzy, thank you for reading and your wise insights - you have the ability to make me pause and reconsider what I've just written and then write it better the next time.

Adam, thanks for reading, for your comments - your mild horror at some of the scripts, your sharing of ideas. Thanks for believing in one of our scripts enough to produce it.

Lennox, thanks for the constant encouragement; thank you for the enthusiasm and joy you dedicated to reading these scripts.

Darlene, Thank you, thank you, thank you - you showed up a little later into this project but boy did you support it. Thank you for reading, discussing these little stories, thank you for your excitement and the energy that helped power this experiment to the end.

To everyone again, thanks for reading. My blog The Nomad Chronicles comes back online this New Year, so y'all stop by now, y'hear?

366. A Requiem For Those We Love - Leslie

2008-12-31T18:39:00.000-08:00

 

FADE IN:

INT. FORGE - NIGHT

The forge glows orange, flames bouncing off of the large metal shapes that dominate it.

In the center of forge is an iron table, to which IOLA is bound.

She is blindfolded, her large, dark wings held in vises that stretch out on either side of the table.

THE BLACKSMITH, muscle-bound creature with a short, white beard and blueish wings stands above her, grasping a white-hot collar in his tongs.

TWO OTHERS stand by the table, watching; one dressed in an immaculate pin-striped suit, his shoes gleaming like mirrors, the other in a strange, almost ancient-seeming military jacket - his hands glow pure white.

The Blacksmith lowers the collar towards her neck.

The muscles of her wings tremble as she feels the heat descending.

The Blacksmith stops.

THE BLACKSMITH
Are you sure? Are you sure the Morning Star wants this?

PIN-STRIPED MAN
Are you afraid?

THE BLACKSMITH
We've never...killed...one of our own before.

PIN-STRIPED MAN
No one has ever betrayed us before.

THE BLACKSMITH
But to cut her off from Father?

PIN-STRIPED MAN
Watch your tongue. I'm getting sick of this, blacksmith--shall I?

The Blacksmith shakes his head.

PIN-STRIPED MAN
Cut her off. Then take her and chain her in plain sight - so she can watch the mud drinkers she seems to love so much.

The letters etched into the collar seem to slither with ancient darkness.

The Blacksmith's hands tremble as he lowers the burning collar onto Iola's neck.

She screams as metal burns into flesh, her wings spasming. 

IOLA
Daddy!

EXT. SKYSCRAPER ROOF - NIGHT

The hum of machinery is gentle over the sounds of traffic in the streets far below; people rushing to be home with their families or join parties at the center of town.

Iola, her once-beautiful wings tattered, sits on the roof, shivering.

Her ankle is chained to the lightning rod, which rises from the center of the roof.

She is thin, sick, a ghost of who she was.

Along the wall at the edge of the roof are pasted hundreds of pictures - people from around the world, and under each, a flame hovers.

She closes her eyes, and begins chanting.

IOLA
Lacrimosa, Lacrimosa dies illa Qua resurget ex favilla Judicandus homo reus.

The chanting becomes singing - the haunting strains of Mozart's requiem.

There is something unearthly and utterly captivating, about her voice.

It is as if an entire orchestra is forming in the notes she breathes.

She stops, placing her hands together, palms up, struggling, in some strange supplication.

A flame ignites above her palms and she shakes with the exertion.

She continues singing, her voice building, her body shaking - decaying so fast it is almost visible.

In the distance the sounds of a massive crowd carry to the roof.

CROWD
10, 9, 8, 7...

Her song builds to the climax.

CROWD
4, 3, 2, 1!

Fireworks explode as the music climbs to the finale; the crowd cheers and the faces along the wall illuminated as the flames seem to glow brighter for a moment.

She struggles to finish, almost whispering.

IOLA
Dona eis requiem, Amen.

She falls backwards, wings disintegrating as she hits the ground, the flames snuffing themselves out one by one.

She stares upward into the sky, lights bursting overhead and gasps - as if the collar is choking the life from her.

Her breathing slows and her glowing eyes, flicker, the last flames to die.

The faces from the pictures look over her as her eyelids close.

The lights high above her spray her body in colored light as her broken feathers blow away, scattered across the city like so many ashes as the final notes of the requiem die.

FADE TO BLACK.

If you're interested, listen to the Lacrimosa of Mozart's Requiem.

365. The Dollmaker's Heart - Leslie

2008-12-30T23:58:00.000-08:00

 

FADE IN:

INT. THE DOLLMAKER'S SHOP - NIGHT

The shop is a small, crowded place, filled with strange tools, tubs of miniature clothing of all sorts, spools of hair, and shelves upon shelves of unfinished dolls.

NARRATOR (V.O.)
In a little village, not too far from where you are sitting, lived The Dollmaker. Nobody knew much about him, for they rarely saw him leave his shop. When he did, they knew he would always give a gentle smile, and have some magnificent present for the village children, before he rushed away - and to where? No one knew.

In the corner of the shop there is a sprawling miniature, stretching from wall to wall, complete with forests, rivers, lakes, and a town.

NARRATOR (V.O.)
What no one would ever know, was that the gifts he gave to the village children were mere trifles, the work that stayed within his shop was his true genius. A world for his special creations.

EXT. MINIATURE WORLD: LAKE  - NIGHT

ARIEL, a doll within the tiny world, sits by the lake, digging into the soft dirt.

Beside her rests a small glass jar, gleaming in the starlight.

She looks up, weary, and puts the shovel aside, the hole is deep enough.

Her articulated wrists are covered in small leather bracelets and beaded strings.

She has an impressive mohawk that rises high above her head, and a single strand of spike that is carefully place in front of each ear.

She wears a dark t-shirt, a skirt, and diamond-patterned fishnet stockings.

Ariel straightens and pulls of her shirt, shiny plastic skin reflecting in the moonlight.

She pulls a tiny latch at the center of her ribcage and her chest opens, like two, small wardrobe doors.

Within her chest, nestled within delicately arched ribs, lies a small, glowing heart.

She reaches inside and pulls it out, placing in the jar, then closes her chest and pulls her shirt back on.

She holds the jar up to the light.

The heart is battered, bits of duct tape and twine holding it together.

She stares at it for a long moment and then places it in the hole, covering it with dirt and patting it down.

She stands and walks woodenly back to the town.

INT. THE DOLLMAKER'S SHOP - NIGHT

THE DOLLMAKER watches sadly, on his stool, perched above his created world.

He watches his world through hundreds of small lenses which descend from his ceiling, each calibrated for a different degree of detail.

EXT. MINIATURE WORLD: ARIEL'S HOUSE - MONTAGE

Ariel sits in the corner of her home, eyes blank, body still as time passes, day into night and back again, never moving, eyes empty.

END MONTAGE

INT. THE DOLLMAKER'S SHOP - NIGHT

The Dollmaker is sitting on his stool again, watching Ariel through one of his glasses.

NARRATOR (V.O.)
The Dollmaker usually left his creations to their own devices, watching, but careful not to interfere too much. But every once in a while...

As he watches, he sees a tiny rat crawl across the apartment, around Ariel's chair, and over her lap, and she does nothing.

He purses his lips, then reaches into his world and taps gently on her door with a finger.

She doesn't move.

He whispers.

THE DOLLMAKER
Little One? Open the door.

She turns, face pallid from weeks of inactivity and stiffly moves to the door.

ARIEL
Why should I open the door?

THE DOLLMAKER
Why did you bury the heart I made for you?

ARIEL
I'm so tired of it breaking. And nothing I tried helped.

THE DOLLMAKER
Would you let me try?

She pauses then opens the door a crack and sees his hand there, waiting.

ARIEL
Alright.

INT. THE DOLLMAKER'S SHOP - NIGHT

The Dollmaker walks to a corner of the room where strange, frightening-looking tools hang.

He pulls off his apron and his shirt, revealing a thick scar that runs down his chest.

He turns to the wall, removing a large knife, and in a smooth, practiced motion takes a breath, then slices his chest open, crying out.

He takes a smaller tool, and reaching into his chest, cuts away a piece of flesh.

He places it in a small jar.

Taking another heavy breath, he cleans his wound and begins stitching closed his wound, his needle tracing a familiar path up his chest.

INT. THE DOLLMAKER'S SHOP - NIGHT

The Dollmaker sits at his work bench, working hard with his tiny tools, crafting a heart from the flesh.

He leans back in his chair, grimacing for a moment with the pain, then relaxes.

He holds the tiny heart up to the light, turns a final screw and it begins to glow.

EXT. MINIATURE WORLD: ARIEL'S HOUSE - DAY

Ariel blinks awake, still in her chair, as sunlight begins to bathe the room.

She looks down, surprised; in her lap is a beautiful leather case.

She opens it carefully and finds the heart, beautiful and brilliant with light.

A small note is attached to the box.

THE DOLLMAKER (V.O.)
Dear One, I cannot promise that it will never break again, but is a safe life worth the emptiness?

She looks around at the cobwebs that have formed around the room and the chair itself, threatening to make their move on her body itself.

THE DOLLMAKER (V.O.)
Guard your heart, but don't lose it. I can promise that I will always repair it for you. Just ask.

She pulls it out of the box and with just her touch, light pulses from it into her hand, the warmth of life spreading into her face.

She turns upward looking out the window and nods.

INT. THE DOLLMAKER'S SHOP - DAY

The Dollmaker pulls away from his lenses, a smile on his face.

He stands up and walks away, leaving the small world to wake up to a new morning.

FADE TO BLACK.

364. My Dream Girl - Leslie

2008-12-29T23:19:00.000-08:00

 

FADE IN:

INT. AIKO AND STEVEN'S ROOM - MORNING

STEVEN sits in the bed, pulled up to his chest as he watches AIKO wake up.

She turns over, then opens one eye, looking up at him, and smiles.

STEVEN
Hey you, how're you feeling?

AIKO
Not too bad, still have that headache though.

STEVEN
Well, its Tuesday, so Mike'll be here soon. Hey, I'll go get you some breakfast, you just relax there.

AIKO
Thanks babe.

INT. KITCHEN/DINING ROOM ROOM - MOMENTS LATER

Steven pads down the hall into the kitchen in his slippers, whistling softly.

He grabs a tray from the cupboard and starts fixing breakfast, putting a skillet on the stove and tossing tater tots in the oven.

The doorbell rings and he slides over to the front door, spatula in hand.

Opening the door, he waves MIKE, who stands on the porch in jeans and a fleece jacket, inside.

Mike carries an old-fashioned doctor's bag with him.

They walk down the hall.

MIKE
How's she doing?

STEVEN
Still's got the headaches.

MIKE
Well, let's see if we can finally take care of that today. I got some new meds in that I think will be perfect for her.

STEVEN
Mike...

MIKE
She's going to be just fine. We'll get her through this ok? And she'll be better than new.

Steven pulls open the bedroom door and sticks his head in.

STEVEN
Hun? Mike's here, says he has some new drugs for you.

AIKO (OS)
Hey Mike, is it time for me to get high?

MIKE
Be good, Ai.

She laughs.

STEVEN
I'm going to finish breakfast, see you two in a sec.

Mike slips in, closing the door behind him, leaving it open just a crack.

Steven walks the few steps back to the kitchen and checks the skillet's heat.

He turns it down a bit and grabs eggs from the refrigerator.

As he closes the fridge door, he notices that the sink is dirty

He lets out a half-exasperated, half-amused sigh.

STEVEN
Woman, will you ever learn?

He reaches for a dishrag, his hand landing on cold metal.

He looks around, then under the sink, finding nothing.

He heads back up the hallway and pulls open a closet door opposite to the bedroom.

Inside, towels and dish clothes sit, neatly stacked.

AIKO (OS)
Will this be the last upgrade, do you think? I'm pretty tired of the headaches.

MIKE (OS)
I'm hoping.

Steven grabs a dish towel and pauses.

There is a pneumatic hiss and Aiko sighs.

Steven tiptoes to the door and peeks through the crack.

Aiko rests against the bed's backboard, her left arm lying above the sheets, a section of her skin pulled away to reveal small ports into which Mike has plugged several small devices.

Steven stares in horror and backs away, tripping and pushing the door open.

INT. AIKO AND STEVEN'S ROOM - MORNING

Mike and Aiko stare as he tumbles in.

STEVEN
How could you bring that thing in here?

AIKO
Babe, it' me. I'm still Aiko, I haven't changed.

Steven gets up, staring straight at Mike, unable to acknowledge Aiko.

STEVEN
I told you I wanted nothing to do with your love bots.

MIKE (OS)
She's not just a love bot, Steve, she's designed just for you - she not some brainless plastiwhore, I mean, she's as real as they get - more real than most women out there.

STEVEN
Out. Get it out of my room.

AIKO
Baby, please!

The look of horror is locked onto Steven's face.

He stumbles to the bathroom and sounds of him throwing up travel out into the bedroom.

Smoke begins to enter the room from the burning potatoes.

The fire alarm goes off.

INT. LIVING ROOM - DAY

Steven sits on the couch, his fingers tapping angrily on the glass of the coffee table in front of him.

Mike sits next him.

The front door is open and through it, they can see TECHS carefully boxing Aiko.

She is still awake.

AIKO
Steve, please, Steve, I love you. Please, please don't let them take me away. Steve!

STEVEN
How could you have gone specifically against what I wanted Mike? If I wanted some computer programmed to love me, I would have said so.

MIKE
You know she was the only way.

STEVEN
Only way to do what?

MIKE
You know that she was the only way to get what you were looking for.

STEVEN
Everything was perfect, the way we met, her just being so amazingly spontaneous. And it's all fiction. All 1's and 0's.

MIKE
It wasn't made up, you both experienced it - she just happened to be a little more predisposed for it.

STEVEN
Screw you.

A TECH walks in.

TECH
Excuse me sir, I need you to sign the deactivation and memory wipe papers. You'll see that reactivation is available for up to three months after the memory wipe.

STEVEN
Ok.

TECH
Sign here...and here.

Steven places the papers against the glass and signs them.

The Tech takes them back and nods to his coworkers outside.

AIKO
Please Steve, please.

Her voice trails off, then stops, her eyes closing as the techs fiddle with buttons on a small remote.

MIKE
You can still stop them. C'mon! You two were perfect for each other - no one else will ever come that close to making you happy. And you made her happy.

STEVEN
Made her happy? Come on.

He almost chokes on his disgust.

The techs finish sealing the crate and move away, revealing a large logo stamped across the front, reading "My Dream Girl."

Steven crosses his arms and stares away from the open door while Mike watches sadly as the techs roll the crate onto their van and drive away.

FADE TO BLACK.

363. Wind Child - Leslie

2008-12-28T23:55:00.000-08:00

 

FADE IN:

EXT. THE BUSINESS DISTRICT - DAY

JERRY DICHTER makes his way through the press of bodies on the sidewalk, all racing along - a sea of suited bodies flowing in neat waves.

Jerry is almost invisible in the crowd, his neatly tailored suit and handsome briefcase giving him distinguished anonymity.

His face is a mask of professionalism - determined busyness.

A spot of color appears in the crowd as MAKANI enters the flow, pushing opposite of the majority of the crowd - a colorful fish swimming upstream.

She pushes past a group of business people and stops, face to face with Jerry.

He stops, off-balance.

Regaining his balance, he moves to get around her.

She puts out her hand, in a slight, graceful movement halting him.

MAKANI
Are you listening?

JERRY
Are you crazy?

He pushes past her, returning to the anonymity of the crowd, shaking his head.

He puts his head down, checking his watch, his feet moving in measured, quick steps.

He looks up and skids to a stop again.

Makani is again in front of him.

The wind ripples through her hair.

MAKANI
Are you listening?

He attempts to ignore her and skirts around her.

He walks faster, looking straight ahead as if locked into invisible blinders.

He looks behind him and sighs with relief when he sees that she is not following him.

Turning back, he lets out a sharp breath of surprise.

She stands, hands behind her back, the breeze playing with the edge of her skirt as she smiles, cat-like, at him.

The crowd flows around them, water rushing around a rock in a stream.

She moves close to him.

MAKANI
Jerry, are you listening?

He catches sight of her eyes and is transfixed by them.

Her pupils are midnight black, surrounded by irises which flare and pulse with color, like miniature nebulae.

He feels pulled closer in and for a moment sees tiny dots swirl in her pupils, like tiny planets orbiting a dark star.

Jerry is lost, time slowing to a viscous flow.

Makani blinks, looking away, suddenly shy, and Jerry snaps out of it.

JERRY
I'm listening.

She leans closer, whispering.

MAKANI
Take your shoes off Jerry, this is holy ground.

He looks at her for a moment, then reluctantly pulls his shoes off.

He wears one bright orange sock and one striped blue and black sock, their colors joining hers in their flashy protest against the monochromatic mass around them.

He stands, uncomfortable.

She stretches her hand out again.

MAKANI
Close your eyes.

He obeys, reluctantly.

MAKANI
When the wind calls, you will listen, you will follow its voice, and follow it to places you won't want to go, but you will serve, and through that service you'll find a deep joy.

A powerful wind picks up out of nowhere and swirls around Jerry as he opens his eyes.

His irises flare, now swirling with color.

Makani smiles, turns, and is gone, lost in the ocean of black and gray.

Jerry holds his shoes in one hand, the crowd pushing around him.

His face is no longer locked into its former mask but has melted - a deeper emotion than he has ever felt filling his eyes and lips.

The wind blows and he begins walking almost unaware that he is moving again, shoes still in hand.

He realizes what has happened and lets out a loud laugh, then continues walking.

FADE TO BLACK.

362. The Awakening of Emily B. Waterford - Leslie

2008-12-27T23:05:00.000-08:00

This script was inspired by a project I did a few years ago. Please Click on the image to see it in full view.

 

FADE IN:

INT. EMILY'S HOUSE: HALLWAY - DAY

Sunlight spills into the hallway from the living room.

EMILY B. WATERFORD slips out her bedroom wrapped in a soft bathrobe.

She smiles, whistling a bit as she shuffles in her slipper-clad feet towards the bathroom.

INT. EMILY'S HOUSE: BATHROOM - DAY

Emily brushes her teeth, staring absently at the Van Gogh print that hangs on the opposite wall.

The painting is one of the few sources of warmth in the cool, modern bathroom.

She rinses her mouth out, spits into the sink, then pauses as she catches a glimpse of her face in the mirror.

A strange hairline runs down her jawline.

She rolls her eyes.

EMILY
Oh, not again!

She pulls reaches for a bottle of lotion sitting above the sink and liberally applies a large dollop to her face.

She turns to leave without giving her face a second glance.

INT. EMILY'S HOUSE: KITCHEN - DAY

Emily sits at a small breakfast table at the center of the kitchen.

An expensive cookware set hangs on a steel rack above the oven.

The oven's brushed metal surface gleams in the morning sun which is now pouring through a large picture window in the living room.

The rooms are somewhat spartan in their modern minalism, but a well-placed lamp or set of candles provide needed warmth around the space.

Emily sips a cup of coffee, enjoying her view of the city below her through the large window.

She turns and stops, catching sight of her reflection in the oven window.

Putting her mug down, she stands and walks over to the oven, stooping to get a better look.

The hairline crack is still there.

EMILY
Weird.

She touches her face and skin of her cheek lifts slightly away from the line.

Repulsed, she pulls her hand away.

She stares, then touches it again.

More skin pulls away.

She lets out a sharp breath, then almost by compulsion, pulls more.

In a smooth motion her face pulls completely off into her hands.

She looks down at her face, sitting, perfectly formed, like a grotesque mask, in her hands.

EXT. RUINS - DAY

It takes her a moment to realize that her house no longer exists.

The world she knows is gone, replaced by a dirty, destroyed city.

Breathing hard, she gingerly touches her face, horrified at what she might find.

Her face is still intact, soft from a lifetime under the strange mask.

She looks around at the new world around her.

People wander blithely through the wreckage, their eyes blank.

She turns and sees her neighbors sitting in the dirt, making the motions of eating breakfast.

She runs over to them and sees that they too seem to be wearing the odd masks.

She looks down at the mask that is still in her hands.

Grabbing it, she attempts to force it back onto her face, but it does not hold.

She tries again and again as it becomes more and more damaged.

She places it on her face one more time, trying to force it to stretch into place and it tears.

The pieces in her hand, she sits down in the ashes, despondent.

She tosses the torn mask aside and her eyes follow the pieces as they get picked up by the wind, then dashed into the remnants of a brick wall, right next to another mask.

She stands, surprised, as she catches sight of the second torn mask.

She walks towards it and sees another and another forming a crooked line to the horizon.

Emily follows the masks, growing smaller and smaller until she fades into the horizon.

FADE TO BLACK.

361. Don't You Know - Leslie

2008-12-26T23:45:00.000-08:00

 

FADE IN:

INT. HIGH SCHOOL CLASSROOM - DAY

SETH sits at his desk taking notes as MR. SCHNEIDER drones on.

MR. SCHNEIDER
These are the tentpegs of Greek literature, people, take note. The hero, his hubris, the hamartia he commits because of that hubris, his realization that his fate is inescapable, and your katharsis as you receive enlightenment about your own situation. Note it well, folks - this far into the year, you shouldn't have to ask me what all this means.

Seth senses something and looks up.

MEGAN is standing at the narrow window, gesturing at him.

He nods and raises his hand.

She slips out of sight.

MR. SCHNEIDER
Yes, Mr. Hamra?

SETH
May I get a hall pass? I think I ate something that disagreed with me last night, and well...

The other students snicker.

Mr. Schneider sighs.

MR. SCHNEIDER
Alright, Seth - but only because you seem to be paying attention. Hubris?

SETH
An act of imbalance. A person acting in a way, often inspired by arrogance, which places him in a state of imbalance that must be righted.

MR. SCHNEIDER
Good enough.

He fills out the slip and Seth moves forward quickly, hand on his stomach, and takes it from Mr. Schneider.

MR. SCHNEIDER
You really should watch your diet Mr. Hamra; this happens far too often for my comfort.

Seth nods and hurries out of the room.

EXT. HIGH SCHOOL - DAY

Seth comes around a corner of the brick building and finds Megan sitting on of the benches that rest against the wall.

He sits down next to her and she move closer and puts her head on his shoulder.

He takes out his watch and sets the timer for five minutes.

SETH
Last night that bad?

MEGAN
I'm fat and I'm ugly.

SETH
I'd tell you that you're not, because you're not - but I'm tired of saying it and not having you believe me. But you're not.

MEGAN
That's sweet of you.

SETH
He called you fat and ugly and he laughed at you and then you went down on him. Please, don't tell me who "he" is this time.

She wipes her eyes.

MEGAN
You're getting good at this. At least it's not sex.

SETH
I think it is.

MEGAN
Well, thanks for making me feel like a slut now.

SETH
Did I say that? It's just that sex is up here.

He taps his head.

SETH
I mean, you kiss someone the right way and that's sex. Sure it's not all the same, but it's not as clearly defined as any of us want it to be. It's all a big gray...

He waves his hands around.

SETH
I'm sorry. Are you ok?

MEGAN
Not really. I know, I know what you're going to say. Don't. Can we just sit here?

SETH
Ok.

They sit on the bench, fall leaves drifting to the ground around them as the time ticks away.

The timer on the watch buzzes, startling both of them.

Megan pulls away from Seth and stands up.

SETH
You're absolutely beautiful. Maybe one day you'll get that. And the day you get it, everyone else will too.

MEGAN
See, I knew you were going to say something.

Seth shrugs.

MEGAN
Thanks, I'll see you later. And you should probably come up with a better excuse.

He smiles.

She walks away, heading around the corner, pausing, just out of his line of sight, and peeking back at him.

Seth sits on the bench for a moment longer.

His smile fades.

SETH
You're absolutely beautiful. You walk into a room and there's just this way that light wraps around your face. Ah, crap.

He touches the part of his shoulder where her head rested and sits like that for a moment.

Megan watches and lifts her foot to take a step back to the bench, then pauses.

She takes one more look at him, then turns, and slips back towards the entrance as Seth sits lost in thought.

FADE TO BLACK.

360. The Borrowed Coat - Leslie

2008-12-25T22:08:00.000-08:00

 

FADE IN:

INT. THE SPOT SOUP KITCHEN - DAY

The Spot is a small, cafe-like space, with 6 large, circular tables arranged neatly around the room and a few couches in the corners. Each table is decorated with Christmas candles and wreaths.

The room is packed with a variety of homeless people enjoying Christmas dinner.

A serving window connects the dining room with the kitchen, in which several volunteers are busy cooking.

MIRI carefully monitors the turkey and potato wedges cooking in the oven.

She bastes the potatoes with an herb butter mixture, watches for a moment more, then closes the heavy metal door.

A box of clothes sits in a corner of the kitchen.

Miri walks past it, to a stool over which her heavy wool coat is draped and feels around her pockets.

She pulls out her cellphone and checks the time, then absently sticks it into her pants' pocket.

MIRI
Abby?

ABBY, a tall woman busy searing chicken spins around.

Miri jerks her head in the direction of the clothes.

ABBY
Oh, kids from one of the local churches...they're going to stop by and pick 'em up - take 'em to some of the shelters.

MIRI
Ah.

She returns to the potatoes.

The front door of the soup kitchen bursts open and a group of kids, wrapped tight in coats and scarves against the cold.

The weave between the tables, talking and laughing loudly.

FERNANDO, one of the group leaders grabs the box, spilling some onto the floor.

He grabs them and grabs Miri's coat as well, tossing into onto the pile.

FERNANDO
Hey, thanks so much for letting use the space.

ABBY
No problem at all. How's it gone so far?

FERNANDO
Ah, it's been great, great. Some of the kids are going to head off and drop these off at a few places. Thanks again.

Abby and Miri wave and he heads out, the flock of teenagers and young adults following him.

Miri pulls the potatoes and turkey out of the oven, placing them on the serving window counter.

MIRI
Alright, Abs, I'm out.

ABBY
By darling, thanks for stopping by and helping - you and that fantastic turkey you make.

MIRI
You just want me for my turkey.

ABBY
All too true.

Miri heads out of the kitchen and to the front door.

She opens the front door and is hit with a blast of cold air.

MIRI
Oh!

She closes the door and rushes back to the kitchen.

Heading to the stool, she stops short, noticing that her coat isn't there.

She looks around.

MIRI
Hey, has anyone seen my coat.

ABBY
Stool.

MIRI
Nope. I gotta find it - I've got my iPod in the pocket...and my keys! Oh, my keys...shoot!

Abby turns around.

ABBY
Huh...you think that they?

MIRI
Nah, couldn't have, it wasn't close to that box.

ABBY
It was a bit.

Miri waves her hand and turns in a circle, looking.

She walks back into the dining room, searching.

INT. CAR - DAY

The box of clothes bounces along on the backseat of the car, a piece Miri's coat sticking out a few layers from the top.

INT. THE SPOT SOUP KITCHEN - DAY

The Spot is emptying quickly, its patrons bundling up and slipping out into the late afternoon.

Miri and Abby washes dishes in the kitchen.

ABBY
Thanks for sticking around.

She smirks.

MIRI
Not funny.

ABBY
Well, at least Fernando's looking for it.

MIRI
You know, the iPod doesn't really matter that much - I've got all the music on the computer anyway...but the keys. I need my keys. And it's cold! I'm not going out there without that jacket. It's my nice jacket. My hippie jacket from London.

Abby grimaces sympathetically and keeps scrubbing at a pot.

ABBY
You did call him, right?

MIRI
I called - he's looking.

MONTAGE

1. The car comes to a stop and clothes are grabbed from the box, Miri's coat gets shoved aside.

2. Miri sprawls on one of the couches in the now empty soup kitchen. She gets up and searches for the coat a bit, then goes the kitchen and grabs a broom and begins to sweep the dining room.

3. The car speeds off to its new destination, the box somewhat emptier.

4. Miri sits up straight on the couch, the broom leaning against the couch, inspecting her phone, then pacing.

5. The car is stopped in front of another shelter and more clothes are pulled from it.

6. Miri sits on the edge of a tabling staring off into space while Abby sits on the couch reading a magazine.

7. The car pulls into another shelter and the rest of the clothes are pulled out.

END MONTAGE

INT. MIRIAM'S HOUSE WOMEN'S SHELTER - EVENING

Fernando stands in the corner of the shelter lobby speaking quietly into his cell phone.

FERNANDO
Hey, Hey Miri - Yes, this is Fernando. Ok, so I found your coat, but there's a problem.

He looks across the room.

LUCY is wrapped in the coat, enjoying its warmth.

FERNANDO
No, no - it's just that, it was given to someone. Um, I can get it for you.

INT. THE SPOT SOUP KITCHEN - EVENING

Miri sits on the couch, holding the phone sleepily.

MIRI
Oh, no, no, let her keep it. But just one favor.

INT. MIRIAM'S HOUSE WOMEN'S SHELTER - MOMENTS LATER

Fernando approaches Lucy awkwardly.

FERNANDO
Would you mind, um, could I see the coat for a second? I promise, I'll give it back.

She looks at him skeptically.

FERNANDO
I just...there's something in the pockets, um, something that I have to give back to someone.

She just looks at him.

LUCY
Well, I'm not taking it off.

FERNANDO
Umm.

He reaches over gingerly and sticks his hand in one of the pockets - its empty.

He tries the other one, but no luck.

FERNANDO
Is there an inside pocket?

She contemplates for a moment, then slowly opens her coat.

He carefully reaches inside and lets out a sigh of relief as he pulls out a tangle of keys, headphones, and the iPod.

INT. THE SPOT SOUP KITCHEN - MOMENTS LATER

Miri holds the phone to his ear, half listening.

She looks over at Abby, who waits expectantly, and whispers.

MIRI
He's so sweet, he searched all over East LA for that stupid coat.

She smiles as Fernando says something.

MIRI
No, no, it's fine. I'm sorry you had to go searching - thanks so much, I really appreciate it. Ok, goodbye, you have a Merry Christmas too.

She hangs up, slipping the phone into her pocket.

ABBY
So, did he find your jacket, is he bringing it back?

MIRI
Yes, no.

She leans back into the couch cushions and closes her eyes, leaving Abby to stare at her, confused.

FADE TO BLACK.

359. The Belated Apology - Leslie

2008-12-24T23:52:00.000-08:00

 

FADE IN:

INT. COLLEGE BANQUET HALL - EVENING

The banquet hall is packed with people milling around tables, the buzz loud buzz of conversation filling the place.

A sign hangs above the small stage near the front, proclaiming WELCOME HOME ALUMNI!

JACK wanders the tables, searching for familiar faces.

He winds his way through the mass of people and spots an empty table on the edge of the room.

He sits down sideways, head still swiveling to pick out a familiar face.

Hearing someone sit at the table, he turns around.

LIZA is sitting across from him, her name printed in large sharpie letter on her name tag.

She gives him a half smile.

LIZA
Hey Jack.

JACK
Wow...it's been forever.

LIZA
Fifteen years.

JACK
How are things? I heard you'd gotten married to Henry - you guys running a restaurant?

LIZA
We co-own it and I'm the exec chef.

JACK
Wow, that's pretty amazing. Sounds like it worked out well for you - it's what you wanted...exactly.

LIZA
I'm kind of impressed with myself too. You still designing clothes?

JACK
Still doing the fashion thing. Had a runway show in New York two months ago - still tough, but it's getting better.

LIZA
Good to hear you're sticking with it.

They pause awkwardly and Jack looks around.

He looks back, Liza's ring catching his eye.

JACK
How's Henry?

LIZA
He's good, he's good.

They are silent for a while longer.

JACK
I'm sorry, I have to ask. This has been eating away at me since college.

LIZA
Yeah?

JACK
Did I break your heart?

LIZA
Yeah, you did. It wasn't the worst heartbreak I've ever had, wasn't the worst heartbreak at the time, but you did.

JACK
I just...

LIZA
One day everything was ok, the next you couldn't even hold my hand without wincing.

JACK
Yeah, I guess it seemed like it. Internally, I'd been debating for a long time - and I guess one day, I just realized it wasn't working, and then it got really hard.

LIZA
You could have said something, and not tried, badly, to keep things going.

JACK
Man, I must have been the biggest idiot.

LIZA
You were a jerk.

JACK
The more I've thought about it, the worse I've felt. I wanted to be perfect, the perfect nice guy - and instead...

LIZA
You were really sweet, you were the nice guy - you just handled the whole break-up part badly.

JACK
And the worst of it was,

LIZA
That you never said anything and I had to break up with you - and I was still very in love with you. I had to break up for you.

JACK
I really screwed up and I never apologized. I'm so sorry. I really am.

LIZA
It's ok, I got over it - we both learned. At least I did. You better have.

JACK
And keep learning every day.

Liza glances over at the bar on the other side of the room.

LIZA
Hey, Henry's waiting for me. I just wanted to say hi.

JACK
Good seeing you.

LIZA
You too. Hey, chin up. You're still a nice guy. Just, well, you know. But you say you've learned.

JACK
I'm sorry.

LIZA
Bye, Jack.

JACK
Bye.

He watches her go, then turns to the wall and slumps a bit in his chair.

FADE TO BLACK.

358. Fate, Manufactured - Leslie

2008-12-23T23:11:00.000-08:00

 

FADE IN:

EXT. FARMER'S MARKET - DAY

PAUL wanders the rows of stalls idly, inspecting everything from neatly labeled jars of wild honey to sniffing at soy candles.

The market is packed with every type of booth imaginable.

Paul trips over a small pile of postcards, sending them flying.

He looks around, embarrassed, then, assured of his conspicuousness, he reaches down and grabs a card, walking casually away from the mess.

When he's moved far enough away, he looks down to read what he's holding.

It's a simple card, printed on thick, brown, recycled paper. and it reads "Gypsy Market: Catch us if you can".

PAUL
Well, that's silly.

He looks around, then heads to the closest booth and approaches the vendor.

PAUL
Hey, can you tell me where this is? The Gypsy Market?

VENDOR
Sorry, I've got no idea. Maybe if you follow the closest pair of dreads.

PAUL
Heh, thanks.

Paul wanders a bit more, peering at booth titles.

He nears the end of the row of booths and then stops.

A small sign hangs on a streetlight pole
among the usual collection of lost-and-found notices, concert flyers, and random ads.

It reads "Gypsy Market," with a small arrow pointing left.

He heads left, behind booths, cutting behind the rows and rows of vendors.

The booths then and he finds himself at the edge of the farmer's market.

A ring of RVs and caravans are parked in a semi-circle, there at the edge, tables and booths piled full of wares.

Paul smiles and clenches his fist in small gesture of victory.

He enters the semi-circle, one of a few shoppers eyeing the wares.

Several of the shoppers are engaged in loud and cheerful bargaining with the vendors.

He scans the tables an finds a small one covered with votive holders, small lamps, and little figurines crafted out of scrap metal.

He stops to inspect the figurines, which are put together with a surprising amount of skill and intricacy.

KATE, a girl with carefully mismanaged dreads, an exotic looking jacket, and flared jeans covered with well-placed flecks of paint, slips out of the RV directly behind the table and comes up to Paul.

KATE
So you like my little toys?

Paul pauses.

Her accent is a north English one, surprising and beautiful.

PAUL
Eh, they're nice enough.

KATE
Oh, I know you love them - look at you, trying to drive a hard bargain.

PAUL
Like I said, they're ok.

KATE
Ok, mister.

He scans the table, feigning boredom.

PAUL
So what inspired these?

KATE
Oh, a summer of reading Flannery O'Connor and a weird assortment of steampunk lit.

Paul's mask cracks.

KATE
Ah, ha! See. Not only do you love my little creations, you are either a fan of dear old Flannery or steampunk lit.

PAUL
What? I didn't say anything.

KATE
Come off of it.

PAUL
Both.

KATE
Oh, my dear, I have you, don't I?

PAUL
You've utterly destroyed my bargaining position.

KATE
Well, you're cute - and you obviously have good taste, so we'll see what I can do for you.

PAUL
And now you're trying to rush me. I'm still just looking.

She smiles coyly.

PAUL
So when did you discover Flannery?

KATE
A library in Stevensville, Michigan.

PAUL
Visiting family?

KATE
Do I sound American?

PAUL
You could have American family, I'm just saying.

KATE
The caravan was there for a few weeks.

PAUL
Wait, so you guys really are gypsies? I thought maybe this was a cool marketing gag for a store, or just something local. So you don't live anywhere?

KATE
Homeless and couldn't be happier.

PAUL
Wow. So why'd you move to the States?

KATE
What is this, a first date?

PAUL
Oh, sorry, guess I was trying to give you the sixth degree there.

KATE
'Tis alright. Now which piece do you want.

Paul points to a dancer with a gas mask that covers the lower part of her face and nail file blades in either hand.

PAUL
I see the steampunk influence, but the Flannery?

KATE
If I could explain everything about my art or how something influenced it, it wouldn't be art, now would it?

PAUL
Fine. So how much?

KATE
What do you think is fair?

PAUL
You tell me.

KATE
Fifty.

PAUL
Ha! If you noticed, this isn't a gallery show and I'm not Daddy Warbucks - Fifteen.

KATE
See, I had started to like you. Are you delirious? Forty-Five.

PAUL
Twenty.

KATE
Thirty, I'll go no lower.

PAUL
Twenty-Five.

KATE
Thirty-Five.

PAUL
Was nice talking to you.

He begins to walk away.

Kate grimaces.

KATE
Twenty-Seven.

Paul spins around.

PAUL
Done.

He counts out the money.

PAUL
So how much do you usually sell these things for, twenty?

Kate doesn't say anything, but her eyes twinkle as she wraps up the figurine.

PAUL
Figures. So how often do you guys come around the area?

KATE
I don't really know, this is our first time. Maybe we'll be back; maybe we won't. We just go where the wind takes us.

PAUL
Oh.

KATE
I'm sorry.

PAUL
Well, I was going to take you out next time you were in town - but since you won't be, you have some time today?

KATE
Sorry, no - we're leaving as soon as we finish here. But, if I could, I would - like I said, you have good taste.

PAUL
See, we shouldn't leave something like this to chance - you have some kind of contact?

KATE
What better thing to leave to chance? The world is infinitely smaller and larger than you can imagine. If we're supposed to meet again, we will.

PAUL
And what about us making our own fates?

Kate shrugs, smiling, and walks around the table to hand him the figurine.

PAUL
Or maybe you just don't to see me again, eh? Just being nice?

KATE
Maybe it is that only, yea?

PAUL
You really would leave it to fate?

KATE
Life is strange. We'll bump into each other again if we're supposed to. If not, we have these sweet memories.

She hugs him and surprised, he hugs her back.

She steps away.

PAUL
Well, ok, here's to fate then.

KATE
Kate, I'm Kate.

PAUL
Paul, Paul McGrew.

KATE
Be well, Paul.

He walks away from the table and waves, then heads back to the main market, figurine in hand, his face a bemused mix of emotions.

ARI walks over to Kate from his booth.

She's inspecting Paul's business card in her hand.

ARI
Who was that then? And when did you start hugging folk? Did you whip him that badly on the price?

She smiles and waves the business card bearing Paul's name at him.

KATE
He didn't do too bad.

ARI
Oh ho, you are a sneaky one. He was that special, was he?

KATE
I think so, yea.

ARI
What happened to fate? The world being big and small or whatever that crap is you say?

KATE
You can't leave something like this to chance.

ARI
Hypocrite!

She smiles, then leans back against her RV and inspects the card again.

FADE TO BLACK.

357. The Misdirect - Leslie

2008-12-22T21:24:00.000-08:00

 

FADE IN:

EXT. MAIN STREET SIDEWALK - DAY

TIGHE stands in the middle of the sidewalk staring up at a tree growing up out of a planter dividing the path.

Its slender trunk swirls upwards; its smooth, paper-like bark spiraling up towards the branches.

With its small, amber-colored leaves, it could have been pulled straight from a Disney film.

Tighe ponders the tree, slack jawed, not moving a muscle.

People pass him on the sidewalk, paying little or no attention to him - he is a familiar sight.

A Group of TEENAGE BOYS walks up to him, all bravado.

Tighe flinches, pulling away from them, his hands curled at his side, fingers feeling at the air.

BOY 1
Hey, what's up in that tree, Tighe? What's so interesting?

BOY 2
I betcha he's looking for the shortbus.

BOY 1
Is that what you're looking for? Aren't you a little big for the shortbus?

The boys laugh, attracting DENNIS' attention.

He makes a beeline for them.

DENNIS
Hey, leave him alone, go on!

The boys walk away, sneering and laughing.

DENNIS
Hey Tighe, c'mon man; you've been staring at that tree for as long as I can remember. Maybe it's time to find another tree.

Tighe barely reacts, blinking fast.

DENNIS
You keep this up, people are going to think you're slow.

He chuckles.

Tighe's phone suddenly rings, startling both of them--a cheerful, electronic polka.

He reaches for his pocket, trying to get to it.

Dennis watches awkwardly, moving in to help, then back away.

The phone stops ringing.

Tighe looks at Dennis with his half-empty eyes.

TIGHE
Gotta go, gotta go.

He moves away with surprising speed, his stride jerky, his hands clenching and unclenching, head tilted to the side.

EXT. TIGHE'S HOUSE - DAY

The street on which Tighe's house is lined with trees that hide the slightly decrepit state of the neighborhood.

He rounds the corner, his tilted gait identifying him from a ways off.

He gets to his house and walks up the sidewalk, fumbling for his keys.

He finds them and gets the door open, sliding inside.

INT. TIGHE'S HOUSE: ENTRANCE - DAY

The house is simple; it doesn't appear to have been re-decorated since the 70s.

Tighe makes his way down the single hallway and halfway down the hall, his shoulders relax and his eyes clear.

He shuffles into his bedroom.

INT. TIGHE'S HOUSE: BEDROOM - DAY

His fists clench and unclenching, Tighe walks to his desk and sits, carefully.

The room is filled with beautiful sketches, drawings, and paintings of the tree from every angle imaginable.

Where there aren't paintings, there are bookshelves packed with classics.

He leans over, painfully removing colored pencils from a drawer and flips open a sketchpad.

Reaching over to a cd player perched at the edge of the desk, he punches the play button, and the sounds of Mendelssohn fill the room.

He smiles, his lips splitting in a strange grimace, then bends over the sketchbook and begins a new version of the tree.

FADE TO BLACK.

356. Joy - Leslie

2008-12-21T23:15:00.000-08:00

 

FADE IN:

EXT. PORCH - NIGHT

LEE sits on the broad porch of a California bungalow-style house.

The porch wraps around the front and side of the house, its wooden floor glowing orange from the lamps within the house, their comfortable light spreading out from the large picture windows that run parallel to the porch.

The street on which the house sits radiates warmth and safety, its houses displaying neatly arranged Christmas lights in addition to an assortment of antique-looking street lamps.

Many of the houses have their own unique lamps, all spilling orange warmth onto the street; some hanging above porches, some above gates, which serve more for show than any essential purpose.

Lee wobbles back in forth in one of the wicker rocking chairs scattered around the porch.

A small tape recorder sits in his lap.

He takes a breath and hits play.

JOY (V.O.)
Hola, darling; this is me, Joy.

He stops the tape, rewinds.

JOY (V.O.)
Hola, darling; this is me, Joy.

He stops it and looks out over the street, shivering.

He pulls his coat and scarf tighter as a stiff breeze pulls dead leaves from the trees lining the street.

Inside the house, Lee's brother, DAVE watches from one of the windows.

He purses his lips and heads to the door, only to be restrained by ALI, his wife.

They wait, concerned, watching Lee through the window.

He presses the play button again.

JOY (V.O.)
I'm so sorry, baby - I didn't want to go this way. Make sure you're on the porch when you play this - I love how - I loved how - is it weird for me to speak about myself in the past tense? I know, you're getting upset now; I shouldn't take this so lightly. I loved how the neighborhood looked at night. That's how a neighborhood should look, inviting, safe. I miss you already. I can hear you in the kitchen right now and I'm wondering what you will do when you find me. I can't joke anymore, not really - and I think that's when it's over. This is all wrong, but I don't know what else I can do. If not now, then my pet monster will take over my brain, and all the treatments will turn me into a living skeleton. There's no need for that. I don't want you to see me like that. So, so I'm going to go now. I'm going to hit stop on this thing, and I'm going to go. I love you, babe. We didn't get enough time together, did we? Next time, ok? We'll do it right next time.

Lee slumps, then hits rewind and waits.

The tape clicks to a stop.

JOY (V.O.)
Hola, darling; this is me, Joy.

He stops it, hits rewind again, then play.

JOY (V.O.)
Hola, darling; this is me, Joy.

He stops it and rewinds again.

FADE TO BLACK.

355. The Starlight Coast - Leslie

2008-12-20T21:49:00.000-08:00

 

FADE IN:

INT. AMTRAK COAST STARLIGHT TRAIN - DAY

WILL wanders into the observation car of the train, marveling at the southern Californian coastline.

He slides into a seat next to the massive window and stares as the train races north.

He begins to doze off.

LEANN walks into car and looks around for a free seat; she spots the seat next to Will and heads towards it.

She stops in the aisle, leaning over to tap Will on the shoulder.

He blinks sleepily.

WILL
Ehm?

LEANN
Hey, would you mind me sitting next to you?

WILL
Hmm? Oh, no, no, that's fine.

She slides into the seat next to him and slips off her jacket, revealing a short-sleeved blouse with intricate button work.

Cherry blossoms are tattooed across her right shoulder, the petals spilling onto her biceps.

Will admires them.

WILL
Is spring your favorite season?

LEANN
Oh, no. I'm melancholy, and I think by definition we love fall - it's in our nature. The most bittersweet of seasons. I just need to remember, every once in a while, that spring is coming.

WILL
Cool. I'm a fall guy too.

LEANN
I suspected. I always daydream about meeting cool, like-minded strangers on the train. It doesn't happen nearly as much as it should. Thankfully, you were here today.

WILL
Well, I'm flattered. You travel the rails much?

LEANN
The rails?

WILL
Yeah, maybe shouldn't have said that out loud.

LEANN
It's ok. I live in Portland, but I do a lot of gallery shows in LA. It'd probably be faster to fly - well, I know it would, but trains, I'm completely in love with trains.

WILL
Oh, me too. Lived in Germany for a summer, was completely amazed at how easy it was to get around. Promised myself I'd use public transport as much as I could when I got back here.

LEANN
A man after my own heart.

They smile at each other.

LEANN
Oh, look! This is one of my favorite parts of the coast.

WILL
You do do this a lot.

LEANN
Oh yeah.

WILL
It's beautiful.

They watch out the window for a while in awe.

Will relaxes into his sit again, content in the quiet.

LEANN
This might be a bit forward, sorry - would you mind if I used your shoulder as a pillow?

WILL
No problem.

LEANN
Thanks dashing train stranger.

Will opens his mouth, attempting to find a response, then gives up.

He gestures to his shoulder.

WILL
All yours.

She puts her head down on his shoulder and he looks back outside at the world racing by.

FADE TO BLACK.

354. A Tomaszewski Christmas - Leslie

2008-12-19T23:01:00.000-08:00

 

FADE IN:

EXT. WARSAW OLD TOWN (STARE MIASTO) - DAY

ABEL walks the edges of the Old Town's market square, staring up in awe at the colorfully painted buildings that ring the cobblestoned area.

He is so lost in the world above him that he doesn't notice KSENIA barreling towards him on her bike - and she, distracted by the the bags she is trying to balance on the bike.

Abel steps right into her path and she slams into him sending the two of them sprawling.

He scrambles up.

ABEL
Prosze...eh...przepraszam? Ehm...

Ksenia sits up.

KSENIA
It's ok, I speak English.

ABEL
I'm really sorry.

Ksenia shrugs.

Abel rushes to help her put her bags back in order.

She stands, righting her bike.

ABEL
Where are you going? I can help.

KSENIA
Just there.

She points to a small shop at the end of the square.

Abel hoists the bags and they walk across the cobbles, Ksenia pushing her bike.

She parks the bike in front of the shop and Abel hands her the bag.

ABEL
Sorry again.

KSENIA
No problem.

She takes a closer look at him.

ABEL
Have a good day.

He begins to head off.

KSENIA
Wait, you - are you here in Warszawa alone?

ABEL
Yeah, just traveling around for my vacation.

Ksenia tsks and shakes her head.

KSENIA
Come, have dinner with my family. It's no good to be alone for Christmas.

ABEL
It's not Christmas today.

She tilts her head.

KSENIA
Of course - it is the whole...

She waves her hands searching for words.

KSENIA
The whole season, the season is Christmas, it is Advent. Come.

ABEL
Well, when you use that tone of voice.

KSENIA
What?

ABEL
Nevermind.

She opens the door, grabbing the bags from him and shoos him in.

INT. TOMASZEWSKI FAMILY STORE - DAY

She closes the door behind her and pushes Abel to the back of the store to a flight of stairs.

They head up the stairs to first floor of the residence.

INT. TOMASZEWSKI DINING ROOM - DAY

They enter a large, comfortable living room/dining room area.

MR. and MRS. TOMASZEWSKI and GRANDMA TOMSZEWSKI are seated around the dining room table.

Mrs. Tomaszewski is a thin, open-faced woman, Mr. Tomaszewski a thick man with strong hands, and Grandma, a small woman with a face that is filled with stories.

Ksenia drops her bags.

KSENIA
Czesc!

MR. TOMASZEWSKI
Czesc Ksenia!

She turns to Abel.

KSENIA
To Jest...

She looks at Abel quizzically.

ABEL
Abel, Abel Martyn.

KSENIA
To jest Abel. Abel, this is my Baba, my Mama, and that's Babcia. I am Ksenia, Ksenia Tomaszewski.

She points to her father, mother, and grandmother.

Abel waves.

ABEL
Dzien Dobry.

The grandmother smiles broadly and thumps the chair next to her.

MR. TOMASZEWSKI
Come, come.

They sit and in a moment, Abel has a large bowl of soup in front of him.

He eats, savoring the warm food as the family around him laughs and talks.

MRS. TOMASZEWSKI
Soup with, eh...grzybowa i kapusniak.

She motions with her hands.

KSENIA
Wild mushrooms and cabbage.

ABEL
It's really good...dobra, dobra.

The family beams.

MR. TOMASZEWSKI
Dessert, sernik i makowiec!

He grins.

KSENIA
Cheesecake and poppy seed rolls.

ABEL
Oh wow.

MONTAGE

They eat, moving from soup to smoked salmon, cabbage salad, and roasted chicken.

Abel is surrounded by a swirl of polish words and food.

END MONTAGE

When they are finished, Mrs. Tomaszewski bustles about clearing the table and replacing the main course with the dessert.

Abel samples the cheesecake and rolls while the family expectantly watches.

ABEL
Oh, wow, that's really amazing. Dobra!

They laugh and smile, launching into their own helpings.

Abel finishes the cheesecake and stands.

ABEL
Thank you very much, dziekuje. It was amazing. I'm sorry, I have to get going.

Mr. Tomaszewski stands and claps Abel firmly on the shoulder, shaking his hand.

Abel shakes Mrs. Tomaszewski's hand and Grandma waves him over, planting a wet kiss on his cheek - he grins at her and she flutters her eyelashes.

KSENIA
Babcia!

Abel moves to the door.

KSENIA
Tch, I take you. Where are you staying?

ABEL
Ehm, right across the river, on Florianska street.

KSENIA
Oh, it is, as you say, the bad side of the tracks.

ABEL
Or river in this case. Well, the hotel price is right.

KSENIA
Ok, I take you.

ABEL
Thanks.

KSENIA
Baba?

MR. TOMASZEWSKI
Oh? Oh!

He pulls keys from his pocket and hands them to Ksenia.

KSENIA
Come on.

ABEL
Thank you again!

MR. TOMASZEWSKI
Welcome, welcome.

ABEL
Bye, eh, do widzenia?

MRS. TOMASZEWSKI
Do widzenia!

They wave and Abel and Ksenia head down the stairs.

EXT. TOMASZEWSKI ALLEY - DAY

Ksenia pulls a scooter onto the small alley behind the house and gets it started.

She hands a helmet to Abel.

ABEL
How about you?

KSENIA
I'm ok. Get on.

He obeys and they speed off, her hair blowing behind her.

MONTAGE

They ride through the square, exiting the old city across the Slasko Dajbrowski bridge that straddles the Vistula river.

They cross the bridge, the skyline shimmering behind them.

They enter the more modern part of the city, ancient cathedrals dotting the gray, communist architecture that dominates this part of the city.

They wind through small streets until they reach Abel's hotel, a warm-looking five story building near a movie theater in the slowly gentrifying neighborhood.

END MONTAGE

Abel hops of the bike and hands Ksenia the helmet.

ABEL
Thanks - that was a pretty amazing lunch. It was nice to be around people again.

KSENIA
Yes, you need at least one good meal during Christmas. Otherwise...pffft.

ABEL
Thanks.

KSENIA
Ah, now you can go back to your friends in America and tell them about the, hot, hot yes? The hot girl you seduced on Christmas, no?

Abel blushes.

ABEL
Ehm, no, not really my style. I will tell them about the beautiful polish girl who I nearly killed and who repaid me with a great meal.

Ksenia laughs.

KSENIA
You have a merry Christmas Abel Martyn.

ABEL
And you too, Ksenia, Tomas, Tomaszewski.

She smiles, pats him on the cheek and speeds off.

He looks after her for a moment after she is gone, then smiles, shakes his head, and heads into the hotel.

FADE TO BLACK.

353. And There Was Light - Leslie

2008-12-18T23:20:00.000-08:00

 

FADE IN:

EXT. SKI SLOPE - EARLY MORNING

The sun hasn't quite risen yet, the orange glow at the horizon hinting at its arrival.

TERRANCE and ANI snowboard down the mountain, little lights strapped to their goggles illuminating the virgin snow ahead of them.

Ani speeds up and pops a simple Ollie, her backpack bouncing against her back.

TERRANCE
Careful!

ANI
You worry too much.

TERRANCE
And with good reason, I don't want to be stuck here without getting a little buzzed for goodness sakes.

They coast over a hill and the view opens up before them, a massive city ringing the far end lake below.

It glows orange.

As Ani and Terrance move closer, they can see that buildings across the city are on fire.

They slow, reaching a level patch of snow.

ANI
Perfect - and a great view.

TERRANCE
Amazing...I remember coming here as a kid with my Mom, it was all forest and now, look at it.

ANI
Going back to forest?

TERRANCE
Yeah, probably.

Ani pulls off her pack and pulls a picnic cloth out, then removes a Champagne bottle wrapped in cloth and two flutes.

ANI
See, just fine.

They sit, watching the city as the fire crawls along the lakeside.

The sun peeps over the horizon.

A distant rumbling begins, echoing off the slopes around them.

TERRANCE
Here we go.

He pours champagne into the glasses and hands one to her.

ANI
You wish you were going?

TERRANCE
Who doesn't?

ANI
You knew you didn't have a chance, right?

TERRANCE
I know.

ANI
Just checking.

The rumble grows to a soft roar.

TERRANCE
My writing wasn't going to get me onto one of those ships - the brightest minds? Ha! 15 billion people, and they say they'll pick the brightest minds.

ANI
More like the best-lined pockets.

A column of smoke rises fast in the distance, followed by more and more, until the horizon is obscured by pillars of orange smoke and flame racing into space.

TERRANCE
There they go.

ANI
To the old world.

She raises her glass.

Terrance raises his and theirs meets with a soft 'clink.'

TERRANCE
To a new world.

Massive silos doors at the far side of the lake slide open, three miles in width and much deeper.

There is a deafening roar and one by one, massive space craft scream into the air, escaping the bounds of earth for the first and last time.

Dozens fill the air around the city.

ANI
To the best and brightest.

TERRANCE
So what do we do now?

ANI
Fight a war or two...

TERRANCE
Maybe we can actually change the way this place works.

ANI
And people will listen to us because?

TERRANCE
Maybe they won't, but it's worth a try.

ANI
Is it?

TERRANCE
They'll probably kill us.

ANI
Probably.

Terrance finishes his champagne and stands, the vibrations rattling his snowboard.

Ani packs the backpack and stands, slinging the backpack back onto her shoulders.

ANI
So?

TERRANCE
It's like another chance at creation - let's go get killed.

She looks over at him.

ANI
Are we really serious? We're clueless - why not stay up here? They're tearing each other apart down there.

TERRANCE
Maybe it's our turn to have our voice heard. I don't know where we start, but I think we should.

A ship blasts out of the ground at the base of the mountain and they begin sliding.

Snow begins tumbling past them.

ANI
Oh. Guess the mountain's telling us it's time to go.

She looks over at him and sees his face is wet with tears.

ANI
Ok, ok, let's do this.

They race down the mountain, a newly-birthed avalanche at their heels.

FADE TO BLACK.

352. Haiku - Songs of Stolen Glances

2008-12-17T00:34:00.000-08:00



1.
Coils of hair, rich brown
A whisper of a smile, wise
Ever so sexy.

2.
Lost deep in fiction
Hers, a watercolored face
Speed-blurred pastel lips.

3.
Lane Bryant beauty,
Goddess on the cold metro
Tosses me a smile.

351. The List - Leslie

2008-12-16T20:49:00.000-08:00

 

FADE IN:

INT. SAM'S APARTMENT - EVENING

SAM's studio is neatly decorated with a variety of shelves, a hammock in the corner, and a desk with his laptop and a mess of cables, put half-heartedly in some kind of order, that lead to his exterior hard drives.

The walls are covered with his framed sketches and paintings of beautiful, stylized women.

Sam sits on a bar stool, a small art desk angled up in front of him, a pencil sketch waiting.

A collection of fine-tipped colored pens sits on his knee.

The door bell rings.

SAM
It's open.

He doesn't waver, still intent on his bristol pad, a blue pen hovering above the sketch.

MARK sticks his head in, the enters, closing the door behind him.

MARK
Oh, nice, I haven't seen some of the new ones.

He scans the wall.

SAM
Yeah.

MARK
Sam? Sam? C'mon man, we gotta get you outta here, meet some real girls.

SAM
I'm good.

MARK
Seriously, dude. Look, it's not my style, but I got you a blind date for tonight. You're going to love her.

SAM
Really, I'm good.

MARK
Scared she won't match up to your ladies?

SAM
She won't.

MARK
You're clutching that list so tightly to your chest that you're never going to give yourself a chance to meet someone who could be even better than you imagined.

SAM
Not gonna happen.

He begins inking in the sketch, his new woman's hair turning a vibrant aquamarine.

MARK
They're just pigment and stiff paper, canvas, whatever. C'mon - I may not be able to find you the perfect girl, but I betcha I can find the girl you can reach perfection with.

SAM
You've been planning to say that for a while?

MARK
Even practiced on the way over.

Sam spins around to face Mark for the first time.

SAM
I appreciate the effort. You go take her out, she won't know the difference, I'm good.

MARK
Sam...

SAM
Mark.

MARK
Man, ugh! I, grrr.

SAM
Oh oops, am I pushing your buttons?

MARK
I just don't understand how you can just not try - how can you know you won't find something special - someone - without trying?

SAM
I've tried.

MARK
So why give up, man...there are so many possibilities, why just quit?

SAM
Look, I'm quite happy.

MARK
You're settling. Not the way you think you will if you end up with flesh and blood, but you are settling. You're giving away your chance to meet someone who might...

He waves his finger at the wall of illustrations.

MARK
Who might be as good as one of your woman; maybe even match up to your list.

SAM
Thanks for the pep talk.

He spins back to his desk.

MARK
She's an awesome writer - has always wanted to meet an artist. Says she loves how you guys see the world in a unique way. And you know she's right  - you have this amazing ability to see beauty in every person you bump into.

Sam spins back around, tempted.

He pauses, then looks over at his shoulder at the sketch and infatuation creeps back into his eyes.

He spins back to the sketch and hunches over his pen case, looking for the right shade.

SAM
I'm good. Enjoy your date - sounds like you two will hit it off. Look, you're already completing her sentences.

Mark lets out an exasperated sigh and waits, hoping Sam will change his mind.

He waits for another moment, but Sam is hunched over carefully inking his sketch.

Mark's shoulders relax and shaking his head, he turns and slips back out the door, closing it quietly behind himself.

Sam is lost in his work, smiling back at the graphite smile of the woman in front of him.

FADE TO BLACK.

350. Seasonal Malady - Leslie

2008-12-15T23:18:00.000-08:00

 

FADE IN:

TITLE - ACT 1: SPRING

EXT. PARK BENCH - DAY

SETH sits on the bench doing quick sketches of feet as visitors to the park pass him.

He wears cargo pants, a sweater under a half-unzipped coat, and a cap tucked sideways onto his head.

The bench sits at the perimeter, touching the park fence, giving Seth a great view of the park itself.

A group of street musicians plays just in front of the fence, a DRUMMER pounding softly on a set of upside down buckets, while a MANDOLIN PLAYER and GUITARIST strum and sing.

EXT. PARK BENCH - DAY

MIA sits on the bench, her head buried in her sketch book.

She has her hair in dreads; a small top hat perched neatly on her head; a sweater with flowing sleeves; and a dark, asymmetrical skirt from which appears pin-striped slacks.

She sees a THIN WOMAN in a turtleneck sweater and jeans and quickly sketches the woman, redesigning her clothes into a strange, fantastical outfit.

The band plays a cheerful tune outside the fence.

EXT. PARK BENCH - DAY

The band is busy playing for passerbys on the sidewalk that runs parallel to the park's fence.

Seth sits on the bench, dressed in jeans and a turtleneck.

He is busy sketching and does not notice at first when Mia walks down the sidewalk and perches on the opposite side of the bench.

She sets patch-covered messenger bag on the cement in front of her and removes her sketchpad.

She steals a glance at Seth and pauses.

Tilting her head she begins sketching him.

Seth feels Mia's eyes on him and waits a moment before stealing his own glance.

He freezes for a second.

She is wearing a page-boy cap, and a vaguely north-Asian sweater that is closed diagonally across her chest with little wooden pegs.

He recovers quickly and looks away, then takes another glance and begins sketching.

They sit on opposite sides of the bench, stealing alternating glances and sketching.

EXT. PARK BENCH - DAY

Seth sits on the bench, nodding his head to the music of street musicians and attempting to sketch a landscape of the park.

His pencil hovers and darts, but nothing is coming.

He sighs looks up at sky, then back down at his sketchbook.

Finally, Seth flips to the page he started a while ago, the unfinished sketch of Mia's hands drawing.

TITLE - ACT 1: SUMMER

EXT. PARK BENCH - DAY

Mia sits cross-legged on the bench, her loose skirt flowing around her feet, nodding to the street musicians' lively music.

She flips through her sketch book, looking through her work, then stops as she comes to the page with her portrait of Seth.

She digs around her bag for a pencil, then begins touching up the shading.

The mandolin player stops playing and turns around.

Mia jerks around has he taps her shoulder, his arm stretched through the fence rails.

He tips his hat at her and hands her a piece of paper, rolled into a scroll and tied with a simple burgundy ribbon.

He nods his head at Seth's side of the bench and smiles.

She looks at him puzzled, then turns around and unrolls the scroll and finds a beautiful rendering of her hands sketching.

She puts it down in her lap and looks back at the mandolin player, but he has already turned his back and begun to play.

She looks back down at her notebook, then rips out the page with Seth's portrait.

EXT. PARK BENCH - DAY

Seth sits on the bench, his hands folded.

The mandolin player looks back, smirks, then returns to playing.

Seth is so lost in thought, he almost doesn't notice the mandolin player's tapping.

When he does turn around, he finds a scroll wrapped in burgundy ribbon pointed at his face.

He takes the paper and tries to look calm, but his fumbling fingers betray him.

He finally gets the scroll open and pulls it open.

It's a drawing of him in the thin, leggy style of fashion sketches.

He rolls it back up and leans back into the wood of the bench and smiles.

EXT. PARK BENCH - DAY

Seth and Mia sit on opposite sides of the bench, sketching.

Seth scoots towards her just a bit, then pauses, and continues drawing.

Mia scoots a bit closer to him.

TITLE - ACT 3: AUTUMN

EXT. PARK BENCH - DAY

Seth and Mia sit next to each other, holding hands.

He points at a child running merrily and they laugh, sketching away with their free hands.

Mia taps her pencil in time with the band.

EXT. PARK BENCH - DAY

Seth and Mia sit on the bench, his arm around her shoulder, her head tucked into his as they watch people pass.

A warm Indian summer breeze plays with Mia's hair.

The mandolin player dances a jig as the guitarist plays a solo.

EXT. PARK BENCH - DAY

Seth and Mia sit on the bench, scarves wrapped around their necks to shield from the cold as they sketch.

They sit apart, their hands just slightly touching.

Autumn leaves fall in waves across the park, whispering their own elegies in ripples of sound.

The street musicians play a melancholy tune.

TITLE - ACT 3: WINTER

EXT. PARK BENCH - DAY

Seth and Mia are bundled tightly against the cold as they draw.

They sit at opposite ends of the bench, just their fingers touching.

The street musicians are gone, the park empty except for a few brave joggers.

Mia pulls her hand away from Seth's.

He doesn't notice.

She watches his face, then stands up.

He is lost in his world.

Her lips tighten and she walks away.

EXT. PARK BENCH - DAY

Seth sits on the bench, alone, drawing.

He looks over at Mia's side of the bench and his shoulders sink.

He looks back at his sketchbook, then straightens his shoulders determined.

The mandolin player walks up to the fence and leaning back, begins to play.

EXT. PARK BENCH - DAY

Mia sits, her little top hat perched on her dreads, alone on the bench, drawing holiday shoppers as they rush through the park, arms full of gifts.

The street musicians play Christmas tunes on the sidewalk.

She looks over at Seth's side of the bench for a long moment, then returns to her sketching.

Seth approaches the bench, moving quietly.

He puts his backpack down on the bench and Mia looks up.

She stands up to leave and Seth holds up a hand, pleading for just a moment.

She waits, standing.

He pulls a scroll wrapped in burgundy ribbon from the backpack and hands it to her.

She hesitates, then takes it.

He removes another scroll, and then another, and another, until she is struggling to hold them all.

She puts them down on the bench and begins opening them, one by one.

They are all pictures of her, her fingers, her eyes, her lips, her face.

She sits, overwhelmed for a moment, then reaches into her bag as he stands, nervously.

She pulls her sketchbook out and hands it to him.

He flips it open and page after page is filled with sketches of him.

He looks at her, then at the bench, and carefully sits down.

She sits down to and the look at each other for a moment.

She smiles and takes his hand, pulling him to the middle of the bench.

She kisses him, half-opened scrolls spilling across the park path.

They lean back, his arm around her shoulders, watching the shoppers in their mad pre-Christmas rush.

FADE TO BLACK.

TITLE - FIN

349. Renewable Resource - Leslie

2008-12-14T22:07:00.000-08:00

 

FADE IN:

EXT. BASE CAMP - DAY

TRU, GREG, LISA, and ADAM sit around the craft services table, surrounded by film crew members on lunch break.

GREG
Man, sometimes it sucks being veggie, film sets are hit and miss for food.

TRU
Whine, whine, whine.

LISA
Nah, it's true, I mean, I'm not a complete vegetarian...

ADAM
A flexitarian.

LISA
Whatever, but yeah, it'd be nice if they made it easier for veggies on set. Well, consistently anyway.

Adam yawns.

TRU
We boring you?

ADAM
Meh, who really cares? Let's talk about politics or religion.

GREG
Ha, you really do want to see us fight don't you?

ADAM
Eh, it'd be entertaining. Tru's agnostic, I'm going straight to hell and I don't really care, Lisa, care to add your status? Your state of belief.

GREG
Seriously? I'd much rather discuss braising a pig...

LISA
I'm sure you would. Well, you know...we can link food and religion. I mean...ok, so I'm not vegetarian, but I don't think humans were made to be omnivores - we're herbivores. I believe we were created and our bodies were designed to be renewed.

Tru nods, interested and Adam rolls his eyes slightly.

Greg mimics Tru's nodding.

Lisa looks at Greg and raises an eyebrow.

LISA
You, you agree with me.

GREG
Excuse me?

LISA
You're a Christian - I saw that flash of something, and you're sitting there and nodding like I'm saying something very fascinating and very new. It ain't new to you. Don't do that. Don't play that game. If you believe, act like it - otherwise, your faith is worth nothing.

Adam smiles and leans back.

Lisa stands.

LISA
Excuse me, I'm going to go check on the talent.

She grabs her walkie talkie and heads off.

Tru slips out of her chair.

Adam sits, still smirking.

Tru grabs his arm and pulls him away.

ADAM
What? What?

Greg sits in his chair, looking a little lost as the crew swirls around him.

FADE TO BLACK.

348. Stranger - Leslie

2008-12-13T23:56:00.000-08:00

 

FADE IN:

INT. CHURCH LOBBY - DAY

RICHARD, dressed in a crisply pressed shirt, khakhi pants, a perfectly matched tie, and shiny dress shoes, stands at the breakfast table, listening to the music coming from inside the sanctuary.

He looks over at the table, contemplating the bagels, then at his watch.

He sighs.

RICHARD
Guess it's that time.

TED, a homeless man dressed in ragged plaid and holey sneakers pushes open the door nearest to the breakfast table and walks toward Richard.

Ted's beard is flecked with unidentifiable bits of food and Richard works hard at not backing up as Ted approaches him.

Ted barely looks up, mumbling.

TED
Could I get a bagel for my friend out there? Eddie, Eddie's ashamed to come in. Doesn't use drugs, doesn't do nuthin'. I told him the food was ok for him to have. Church people wouldn't mind, but he's ashamed.

RICHARD
Sure, that's fine.

Richard moves aside to let Ted get to the table, then glances at the man's hands and reconsiders.

RICHARD
Here, I'll get you that bagel. Does he want it toasted, cream cheese?

TED
Just plain with cream cheese is fine. Knows the Bible better than anyone I know, Eddie does, but he's ashamed.

Richard cuts a bagel and slathers it with cream cheese.

He puts it on a plate and places a muffin next to it.

RICHARD
Yogurt?

TED
No, no...doesn't trust those packaged things, Eddie doesn't.

Richard hands him the plate, trying not to shudder as their hands touch.

Ted looks up at him for the first time.

TED
You think I didn't notice?

RICHARD
Excuse me?

TED
You'll get to Him on that day and you'll say, "Lord, Lord, I fed poor, smelly Eddie, I gave Ted the plate, Lord" and He'll say, "Get out, I don't know you, never did."

Ted holds his gaze with Richard until Richard looks away.

Ted turns to shuffle away and Richard rushes, faster than he'd like to the sanctuary, pulling open the door and letting the strains of music free for a moment, before closing the door behind him.

FADE TO BLACK.

347. Stranded - Leslie

2008-12-12T22:06:00.000-08:00

 

FADE IN:

EXT. CITY SQUARE - LATE AFTERNOON

ALI sits on one of the benches that rings the square, her well-traveled backpack, sitting next to her.

The backpack, covered with patches and a small Union Jack, sits taller than her.

Her eyes are ringed with a light layer of eye-liner, just enough to attract attention without being overplayed.

She looks out over the cobblestones of the square, her eye's half-empty - there is a distance in her gaze.

Tourists criss-cross the square snapping pictures and talking loudly and those to whom the square is a piece of national heritage avoid the interlopers with no small amount of condescension.

Ali reaches around her neck and yanks at a cloth strap wrapped around her neck.

With a little effort, she pulls a small pouch out from it's hiding place under her shirt and opens it.

She pulls a one-way ticket stub from New York to London from the pouch, then her American passport, worn and beaten from hard use.

She feels around the pouch, her fingers searching earnestly.

All she discovers are a few Euro coins.

She looks one more time, but the result is no different.

A MAN IN A COWBOY HAT walks past, devouring a pack of large french fries he's bought from the McDonald's whose garish sign mars the ancient square.

Ali stares after him, eyes fixed the food.

She digs into her pockets, searching for more, but they are empty, save for a pen and some scraps of paper.

She sits back, exhaling hard.

Biting her lip, Ali looks around, the light of the fading sun playing with her hair.

A group of tourists approaches and she looks at them, then away, then at them again.

They come closer.

She flinches, then closes her eyes for a moment.

Ali opens her eyes and holds her hand out.

ALI
Hey guys, could you just spare a little change?

They pass, some tossing looks of pity back at her, and she slumps.

Another tourist approaches, she braces, then holds her hand out again.

FADE TO BLACK.

346. Haiku - Moving Songs

2008-12-11T18:42:00.000-08:00



1.
She wears the same shoes
She's been wearing for five years
Holding memories.

2.
This empty room filled
With invisible moments
Tucked between boxes.

3.
One last walk through, sigh
Run a finger across wall
Now leave, don't look back.

345. The Perfect Tree - Leslie

2008-12-10T10:46:00.000-08:00

 

FADE IN:

EXT. CHRISTMAS TREE LOT - DAY

JAMIE and SVEN walk, holding hands down one of the narrow aisles of trees, followed closely by AARON.

They are wrapped in scarves and coats are drawn tight against the cold breeze.

AARON
Oh, look at this tree, I think it's the straightest one here. You guys should grab this one.

Jamie and Sven smile at each other and keep walking.

AARON
Or this one. Look how full the needles are.

They keep walking, turning a corner and heading down another aisle.

AARON
I don't like any of these.

SVEN
Jamie, do you hear a faint buzzing behind you?

JAMIE
I don't hear anything, where'd Aaron go?

AARON
Very funny, you two. Seriously, what are  you looking for? The ones back there were perfect.

SVEN
We'll know it when we see it.

They turn another corner and begin walking down.

AARON
Oh look, the branches on this one are nice and stiff, good for hanging ornaments from.

They keep walking.

Aaron shakes his head and decides to just be quiet.

They come to the end of the row.

Jamie turns to Sven and nods, smiling

AARON
Uh?

The tree in front of them is misshapen, its branches drooping sadly, the top branches crooked.

JAMIE
This is it.

AARON
You kidding?

SVEN
Not in the slightest. It's our Christmas tradition. We pick the un-likeliest tree in the lot. Just our quiet statement.

AARON
That's pretty loud.

They chuckle, admiring the unsightliest tree in the lot.

FADE TO BLACK.

344. And If, Perchance, We Meet - Leslie

2008-12-09T23:36:00.000-08:00

 

FADE IN:

INT. BACKSTAGE - NIGHT

ADRIAN wanders down the backstage hallways, his tux loose, shirt unbuttoned at the top, his tie slung untied around his collar.

The hall is lined with large mirrors that stretch down the walls, separated by thin patches of pinstripe-wall-papered patches of concrete.

He rounds the corner and comes to a full stop.

DARYA is standing by one of the mirrors, her face millimeters from the surface, eyes half closed.

She has a small, round face, a nose that turns up just slightly, and lips parted and she breathes onto the mirror, watching the fog of her breath grow across the glass.

She is casually elegant, with her hair is tied into a bun, teardrop earrings spinning down to her shoulders, the thin straps of her dark tank top criss-crossing her back, and a  faux fur-rimmed jacket around her elbows.

Adrian backs up to the corner and tries to watch surreptitiously.

Darya watches the fog disappear with a smile, then blows again, lost in her own world.

Adrian watches, enchanted.

She steps back and draws a pattern in the misted mirror.

Adrian pulls back a bit and bumps into the edge of the mirror behind him.

He winces in pain and stumbles.

Darya looks up at the sound, catching Adrian.

She stands up straighter, embarrassed, then smiles.

Adrian pulls back, then decides against it, and pulls himself away from the wall, trying to look somewhat dignified.

He walks towards her and her smile fades.

ADRIAN
Hi.

DARYA
No, just keep on walking.

ADRIAN
What?

DARYA
Just keep going; I'm just the girl you brushed past in the hall who you dream about for a few weeks, then forget.

ADRIAN
I was just going to suggest coffee or something - nothing that serious.

Footsteps ring down the hall.

DARYA
Quick! Keep going.

Adrian walks past.

RICK strides around the corner which Adrian was hiding behind just moments before.

His tux fits crisply against his muscular frame.

RICK
There you are! You're always slipping away.

He kisses her firmly.

Adrian turns back as Rick pulls Darya away.

She turns her head and Adrian is captured by her lips, her eyes.

There is a flash of recognition on her face and she nods, ever so slightly.

Adrian watches the two disappear around the corner.

He shakes his head and walks forward again.

Running a hand through his hair, he pulls the tie off completely, and takes one more look down the hall, then rounds the opposite corner and disappears.

FADE TO BLACK.

343. Fathers and Daughters - Leslie

2008-12-08T23:20:00.000-08:00

 

FADE IN:

INT. MASTER BEDROOM - AFTERNOON

MATTHEW sits at the edge of his bed, a pair of dress shoes on his knees.

LUCY, his daughter, sits on the bed next to him, another pair of shoes on her knees, trying to look as much like him as possible.

A little table sits in front of them, Matthew's shoe-shine kit and a glass with a little water neatly laid out on the wooden surface.

Matthew grabs a can of shoe polish and pops it open, laying the top back on the table.

MATTHEW
Alright, now watch carefully. You put just a drop of water in the top, like this.

He pours water from the glass into the metal tin.

He grabs a well-worn rag from his hit and taking the wax in one hand he applies wax in a smooth circular motion to the rag.

Lucy grabs a smaller tin of black wax and quickly copies his action.

Her motion is unpracticed and jerky.

MATTHEW
Smoothly, smoothly. Little circles like this. Ok, good, now see, you have enough? Dip it into the water, just a drop.

He takes his cloth, the waxed-up section wrapped around his finger, and dabs it carefully into the water.

A small, perfectly round droplet stands sits on the wax.

MATTHEW
See, this is how you do a spit-shine.

Lucy watches, carefully, quietly.

He takes the cloth and begins applying it to his left shoe in the same smooth, round motion.

Lucy copies him.

The scuffed, shiny surface of the shoes go to a dull, matte, black.

They work quietly, Lucy following his every motion, polishing the exact same parts of her shoe as he.

He finishes the left shoe and places it on the table and begins on the right shoe.

He looks over as Lucy begins her new shoe.

MATTHEW
There! You're getting it. Just like my father taught me.

LUCY
How old were you?

MATTHEW
Oh, I think I was your age.

Lucy looks at him and wrinkles her nose, trying to imagine him as a nine-year old.

MATTHEW
Can't see it can you?

He pokes her with an elbow and she giggles.

MATTHEW
Your grandfather taught me well. When I was a teenager, I worked at a barbershop shining shoes for the guys getting haircuts. Mr. Oglesby's barbershop...

He keeps polishing quietly, lost in memories.

LUCY
You're gonna make me work at a barbershop?

He pokes her again.

MATTHEW
Only if you want.

They finish their shoes.

MATTHEW
Ok, here's the fun part.

He grabs the left shoe and a thick, black brush, and begins brushing the shoe vigorously in strong, choppy motions.

Lucy giggles.

Matthew chuckles at the odd motion.

MATTHEW
You try it.

Lucy grabs her left shoe and begins brushing in exaggerated motions.

They laugh and he mimics her.

MATTHEW
Look, look, you see that?

As they brush, the matte color of the shoes transforms into a clean, shiny, reflective black.

LUCY
Ohhh.

MATTHEW
This is my favorite part. Careful there, don't miss the back. Good, good.

Lucy scoots closer to him and he smiles at her.

They sit, brushing and laughing in the afternoon sun.

FADE TO BLACK.