Feast Page #4

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INT. BAR -- CONTINUOUS

The place is dark, musty and sporadically populated. We take

a quick right and stop at an old-fashioned jukebox.

A young man in a wheelchair loads a quarter into the jukebox

and is instantly pushed away by Bozo. We freeze on the young

man.

SUPERIMPOSED:

NAME:
PARA

AGE:
29

OCCUPATION:
FIREWORKS DEALER

LIFE EXPECTANCY:
THEY WOULDN'T KILL A CRIPPLE... WOULD THEY?

We see that "ONLY COOL CHICKS CAN DO ME" is printed on Bozo's

tank-top.

PARA:

Hey!

Para rolls away uncontrollably.

BOZO:

Shut up, fag.

Bozo punches in his selection. The CD spins. A 1980s heavy

metal song KICKS IN.

Bozo, mouthing the lyrics, struts away.

NOTE:
Music plays over all the bar sequences.

EXT. PRAIRIE LAND -- NIGHT

P.O.V. - We continue to run. Panicked breathing. Kicking up

the snow.

INT. BAR -- NIGHT

A man takes a shot and downs it. We freeze on him.

SUPERIMPOSED:

NAME:
GOLDIE

AGE:
24

OCCUPATION:
HOST AT RED LOBSTER

LIFE EXPECTANCY:
HORRIFYING DEATH IN JUST UNDER SEVENTY-FIVE

MINUTES:

The bartender has been suffering through this dude's sob

story all night.

GOLDIE:

We'd been together for so long and

then... bang! She drops me. Since

then, it's been like a damn country

song. She's gone, the car's broke

down, a father figure made a pass at

me. I have a constant fear of

falling... etcetera, etcetera. I'm

not saying I ever had it. But I have

definitely lost it.

(beat)

I mean I used to be a model for

Christ's sake...

BARTENDER (thinning hair, chiseled face, big earring) looks

up at this while completing two drinks.

BARTENDER:

For what?

Rate this script:4.5 / 2 votes