Reindeer Games Page #2

RUDY:

Not yet.

NICK:

F***in' Christmas, man. F***in,

Christmas on the outs.

Dozens of uniformed INMATES wander the yard, stamping feet,

hands tucked away, breath frosting. Nick tries to light his

cig, but the wind plays havoc. Nick curses, tosses it.

RUDY:

Hot chocolate.

NICK:

What?

RUDY:

Get a hot mug of chocolate.

(nods)

First thing I'm gonna do.

NICK:

(smiles)

And a slice of pecan pie, right?

RUDY:

And some pecan pie.

Nick laughs, stares through the fence at the gates of the

prison's entrance road. Longingly.

NICK:

She's gonna be out there, man. Right

there. Right there waiting.

RUDY:

Yeah.

NICK:

Gonna walk out of this shitstorm and

right into her arms.

RUDY:

Yeah.

NICK:

Got us a motel out Highway 5, bringing

her own damn sheets, you read that

part? Silk damn sheets. Lock ourselves

in the whole week, drinking wine,

taking baths, man, see if they got

those room service steaks... anything

I want to do. Remember when she wrote

that? Anything I want...

RUDY:

Yeah. F***in' Christmas.

Nick grins. They stand there, shivering. It's freezing, but

the time they get outside is too precious to give up.

RUDY:

All those pictures she's sent...

y'know... you sure they're all of

her, Nick? You hear sometimes they

don't send their real pictures. Could

be her cousin or something.

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes