Just drop me off.
Jerry pulls to the curb. The meter at $3.60. The Cynic
slides a twenty through the slot and is out the door.
Jerry watches over his shoulder as the Cynic disappears
down the street. Jerry rubs his eyes, tries to regroup.
EXT. FIFTH AVENUE (MANHATTAN) - NIGHT
Late. The cab rolls, this time the right way. Ahead, a
well-dressed man steps off the curb, flags Jerry down.
Jerry slows, stops. As the well-dressed man starts over,
Jerry sizes him up. The man seems suddenly sinister.
As he reaches for the door, LOCKS CLICK DOWN. Jerry GUNS
the CAB away. The confused man stumbles back, shouts,
apparently not a threat at all.
EXT. APARTMENT BUILDING (UPTOWN) - NIGHT
Headlights out, the cab pulls up to the curb.
INT. CAB - NIGHT
Jerry glances at a lit 2nd floor apartment window, then
settles in with a bologna sandwich. About to take a
bite, he pauses, removes a slice of bologna. He regards
it a beat, then carefully peels off the edge. Jerry
holds the narrow casing up against the glow of a
streetlight, like it was encoded. Then something catches
his eye. He trades the sandwich for binoculars, focuses
on the window.
BINOCULAR POV - WINDOW
LIZA SUTTON. In a Yale sweatshirt, stretching, earphones
on. She forces her head past her kneecap and holds it
there. Driven is the word to describe Liza. When she
sleeps, she tries to do it better than anyone else does.
We can't hear her, but as she finishes stretching, she
sings along with the music on her headset.