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A burst of bright white static exploding across the
darkness. A high whine on the audio track gives way to
street sounds and rapid breathing.
AN IMAGE wavers and stabilizes: A nervous POV. We're in a
car, sitting in the backseat, and we're nervous, the view
swinging around, showing the street rolling by outside the
windows, then whipping back to the two guys in the front
Our POV looks down at a SMALL RECORDING DEVICE in "our"
hands. A red LED is flashing. We slip the recorder into
a coat pocket.
Okay. It's goin'. I'm recording.
The guy riding shotgun, LANE, is just pulling a pantyhose
over his head, smearing his features into a pig-like mask.
He turns, DIRECTLY TO THE LENS, pissed off.
Good one, dickhead. Thanks for
waitin' till I get this fuckin thing
on. You tryin' ta I.D. me, or
He tosses another pantyhose right at us and we catch it.
Our POV looks down, into the pantyhose, which comes up
over our field of view.
this is not some ride-along verite video.
WE ARE ONE OF THESE GUYS. Real honest-to-God point of
view, with no cuts, no music. This is not film, it is
The driver is a Hispanic guy named "SPAZ" DIAZ. Lane is a
white guy who looks very strung out. Couple of
crackheads. The car is a mid-seventies barge, piebald
Next alley... just pull in slow.
(turning to us)
Hurry up will ya. Here.
He hands us a big stainless steel revolver. The POV looks
down as our shaky hands snap open the cylinder, check the
rounds, snap it closed.
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