A Hundred Streets


mate. We're on a table.

Trust me.

I don't think so.

And you stink of weed.

So, you need to

leave the club now.

Hey, come on, brother.

Where's your empathy?

I don't know you,

and you ain't my brother.

So step aside...

Yeah, we don't wanna

fucking know you!

Mandingo fucking prick!

Fucking dickhead!

F*ck you, man!


Fucking wanker!


Come here!

Get the f*ck off me, man!

Get the f*ck off


Hey! Leave him!

Leave him the f*ck alone!

Get the f*ck off me.

Get the f*ck off me.

Get off me!

Get off me!

Look what the

cat's dragged in, eh?

What've you done

to your face?

Mom, mom, it's nothing.

Just slipped.

Had a couple

of drinks n' that.

Who was you with?

My boy Sean, innit?

Well, that boy's

got brains.

I bet he didn't get himself

into such a condition.

That's going to look

great in job interviews.

Mom, it's fine.

Trust me.

Just make sure you get

Amelia to church on time.

What do you say, shorty.

You ready, yeah?

You smell.

"Immediate return

to court order..."

Hey! That's none

of your business.

You going back

to prison?


No. Of course not.

Look, I'll just take a

pregnant white chick to court

and they'll give me

community service.


I ain't ever going

back there, you know?

I promise you.

Now, come on.

Let's go before we both

get in trouble, yeah?

"Upon such sacrifices,

my cordelia..."

"The gods themselves

throw incense."

Must be, what, um,

four years since we

did lear together?

Eight years ago.


That's the price you pay

for those thunderous thighs

and the glamorous

life of a wag.

How is, uh,

Mr. neanderthal?

Being a royal pain.

Yes, that's why

you're here, I suppose?

You miss me.

You've finally

succumbed to my...

My, uh, mature charm.

Mmm, something like that.

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Submitted on August 05, 2018

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    "A Hundred Streets" Scripts.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2021. Web. 17 Jan. 2021. <https://www.scripts.com/script/a_hundred_streets_1936>.

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