His eyes switch from the river to the phone. From
sadness and anger to pragmatic. He changes his mind.
At this point Danny realizes he’s being watched.
An early morning runner, standing some five or so
meters away. Dressed in sleek pro gear. Athletic.
Handsome. Roughly the same age as Danny.
He seems to be assessing Danny as though he were a
peculiar but not uninteresting phenomenon.
We have no idea how long he’s been there.
Danny is struck by how handsome this man is. And
straightens up, trying to return to normal society mode,
and not entirely succeeding.
He wags the phone, explaining why he didn’t throw it.
It would’ve been satisfying...
As he wags it the phone slips out of his sweaty fingers
and hits the pavement, smashing.
The runner and Danny stare at broken fragments. Danny
smiles, a smile becoming a laugh, a laugh becoming a
world weary sigh. The runner simply observes.
Danny crouches down and starts to pick up the pieces.
To his amazement the runner joins him. Even though it’s
pointless, and the phone can’t possibly be fixed.
With his hand full of fragments the runner carefully -
slowly - tips his small collection into Danny’s palm.
We hear the faint sound of the metallic and glass tinkle,
as though there were no other competing city sounds.
Eye to eye with this man, Danny knows not what to say.
That flint-spark of an inexplicable connection.
The runner’s voice is educated, gentle, the emphasis
and rhythm of his words unusual.
Are you okay?
Me? I’m fine. You don’t know me
but if you did you’d know that I’m
LONDON SPY -EP 1 -SHOOTING SCRIPT
The runner observes Danny’s pupils, without judgement,
and offers a sports drink affixed to his arm.