EXT. AN IMPOSSIBLE EXPANSE OF MARYLAND FARMLAND - DAY
The wind rustles the endless field of corn, blows over the
freshly mown meadow of soybeans, and magically sways a copse of
It's a Fall after-noon. A SUDDEN POUNDING OF GALLOPING HOOVES
breaks the peace and... A HORSE and RIDER burst between the rows
of corn into the meadow. They are running for their lives.
The rider is a bride -- a beautiful woman dressed in a
disheveled wedding gown, it's train tattered and flying like a
knight's banner out behind her. This is MAGGIE CARPENTER.
The horse is frothing and wild-eyed, like the bride, who turns
to look behind her in terror. The horse's labored breathing
mingles with Maggie's panicked gasps.
We see a WEDDING BOUQUET fly into a ditch as the horse thunders
on. Maggie clings to the reins. She looks as though she is
running from the devil himself.
FADE TO BLACK:
EXT. IKE'S APARTMENT BUILDING - DAY
EXT. IKE'S APARTMENT BUILDING - DAY - ESTABLISHING SHOT
EXT. NEW YORK STREET - DAY
Hey, Fisher, pick up. I have some
column ideas I want to bounce off you.
Not there? Okay. Listen I'm thinking
of writing about those mind-numbing
informercials that are always on.
Ike walks out of his apartment building talking on cell phone.
What do you think? Good idea, right?
Boring, down to death, pointless -- It
Ike yells at a CONSTRUCTION WORKER.
If you guys are here any longer,
they're gonna make you sign a lease.
Your column should be so funny.
Ike turns and walks down the street, talking into cell phone.
Okay, I was also thinking I might write
He spots a RICH LADY with tons of diamonds getting out of a
Limousine, talking to a CHAUFFEUR. He goes up to her.
Excuse me. I was thinking of doing an
article on limousines. What would you
say to people who never had a chance to
drive in a limo?
They walk up to her DOORMAN.
I'm sorry, I don't know any people like
Ike walks off. They stare at him as he goes.
EXT. ANOTHER NEW YORK STREET - DAY
Ike's talking on the phone to his friend's machine again.
Fisher? Come on -- I know you're
sitting there laughing at me. Pick up.
I want to run an idea past you.
Ike continues walking now in the full panic of writer's block.
He pleads into his friend's answering machine as he walks.
I just could use someone to toss it
back and forth with for a few minutes,
get the juice flowing, help me. I have
an hour and twenty-seven minutes and
fifty-two seconds. Hello?
He walks away from the t-shirt table towards the bar. The
Vendor calls out to him.
Hey, Ike, when are you going to put me
in an article?
When your t-shirts stop shrinking.
Ike enters the bar. The Woman drops the shirt she was holding
and walks off with her children. The T-shirt Vendor goes back
to selling his shirts.
INT. NEW YORK BAR - LATE DAY
Ike sits at the bar speaking to an attractive Woman nearby, a
MAN puts is USA Today on the bar and addresses the BARTENDER.
I see photos of a lot of dead writers
on these walls. Got any living ones?
I have a story to tell that could win
one of them a Pulitzer.
(then, with enthusiasm)
Picture this, if you will. A small
town in Maryland, a sleepy little
village, within that a hardware store...