(rolling the R)
You're home, then.
He turns, waves away the taxi he's kept waiting. While
Eduardo Rama waits for an introduction.
My name's Wilson.
Accent speaks for itself. Hard, working-class.
Knows the name. But just now it's unexpected. He's holding
INT. ED'S HOUSE. NIGHT.
I didn't expect anyone.
I mean, what has it been -- six months?
Round about, yeah.
Spanish) that she only has two hands. A sullen TEENAGER
I didn't even know who I was writing to --
just someone with the same last name.
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