My Own Private Idaho Page #2

Mike thinks about the loneliness of the road.

MIKE:

This is nowhere. I'll bet that

nobody is ever going to drive down

this road. I'll be stuck here

forever.

Mike looks at the road stressfully. The road looks back. He looks

at the road his eyes growing heavy. The road looks back...

Mikes yawns.

MIKE'S VOICE OVER

I don't know when it was I

recognized I had this disease.

Mike looks like a backwoods character who fits into the terrain.

Mike makes strange movements, like he is having a sort of

epileptic fit, then yawns like he is very tired, again.

MIKE'S VOICE OVER

Sometimes I'll be in one place,

and I'll close my eyes...

MIKE CLOSES HIS EYES. THEN A WHOLE RITUAL OF EVENTS HAPPENS, HIS

EYES TURN BACK IN HIS HEAD AND HE BEGINS TO SHAKE ALL OVER. THEN

ALL GOES BLACK.

MIKE'S VOICE OVER

When I open them again, I'll be in

a completely different

surrounding.

When Mike opens his eyes, he is in downtown PORTLAND, OREGON.

A LOUD BUS drives by Mike's view in the city. He is asleep, then

wakes enough to see other UNKNOWN KIDS rifling his pockets in a

doorway, as Mike sleepily looks

on.

SUBTITLES:

It's kind of like time travel.

It's kind of good.

MIKE CLOSES HIS EYES AGAIN, AND WHEN HE OPENS THEM HE IS BACK IN

THE COUNTRY. BUT THIS TIME A COMPLETELY DIFFERENT TERRAIN. LIKE A

LONG TIME HAS PASSED. HE IS ALSO WEARING DIFFERENT CLOTHES.

MIKE CHECKS HIS WATCH AGAIN. He looks happy at the passage of

time.

MIKE:

Yeah. It's kind of good. Passes

the time. Unwanted as it is.

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