She tucks her PHONE in her HANDBAG. Ahead, the GANG
watch, exchanging unheard comments, conferring.
SAM hugs her HANDBAG close. She walks forward, playing
it cool. Then:
The two BIKE BOYS split from the group and pedal lazily
towards her. SAM steels herself, slows.
They pass VERY CLOSE. Their HOODS are up, their faces
masked, they loom at her like spectres -
Attack The Block - FINAL SCRIPT (Inc. Reshoots) 10.11.10 4
-- but pass right by. SAM walks on, relieved. Too soon.
Because now the remaining YOUTHS ahead stroll out into
the street in front of her.
(under her breath)
They form a ramshackle line across her path. Anonymous,
SAM stops. Afraid. It’s a stand-off. Nobody says
anything. The silhouetted YOUTHS exchange whispers.
...set the pace, set the pace...
The dominant youth (YOUTH 1) walks towards her. She
turns around. Behind her, the two BIKE BOYS straddle
their rides lazily, blocking her exit.
When she turns back; SHOCK! YOUTH 1 is RIGHT THERE.
Gimme the phone, gimme the
phone, gimme the phone...
Only his EYES are visible between hood and bandana,
like some ghoulish highway robber. SAM fumbles in her
bag, face pale with fear. Gives him her PHONE.
The money, the purse, gimme the
purse, give it me...
SAM delves into her bag again with trembling hands.
Impatient, the youth GRABS the whole bag.
Don’t fuck with me, get me?
He throws the bag behind him. Another YOUTH catches it,
forages inside. SAM lifts her hands defensively -
-- inadvertently revealing an ANTIQUE RING on her
finger. The lead youth SEES IT.
Gimme da t ring...
Attack The Block - FINAL SCRIPT (Inc. Reshoots) 10.11.10 5