Jaffe stares at her.
(beat, looks around)
This is a really nice office.
Jaffe looks down at her resume, trying to figure a polite
(looks up at her)
Beat. By Erin's expression, she knows what's coming.
EXT. DR. JAFFE'S OFFICE / SO. CALIFORNIA SUBURB - MAIN DRAG -
A side street. No pedestrians, just parked cars.
Erin is finishing a cigarette. Her face has fallen -- the
enthusiasm and spirit she showed in the interview are now
replaced by a desperate type of concern. She takes a final
puff, puts the cigarette out and walks to her car.
A PARKING TICKET flaps under the wiper of an old Hyundai.
Even when she talks dirty, there's a heartland goodness to
her voice. Like Kansas corn fields swaying in the breeze.
As she grabs the ticket from the windshield, her sunglasses
accidentally CLATTER to the ground.
When she picks them up, a fingernail snags on the pavement.
God damn it.