EXT. GUARJIRA, COLOMBIA - 1989 - DAY
A majestic panorama of the lush green slopes that are the
Columbian highlands. A faint chopping sound IS HEARD and
then another. WHOOSH. WHOOSH. The view changes and tiny
dots appear on the hillside vegetation. WHOOSH.
We realize the dots are people. Workers swinging long steel
machetes in slow methodical rhythm. WHOOSH. WHOOSH. WE SEE
the South American Indian MEN clearly now. Their tar stained
teeth. Their gaunt faces riddled with crow's feet. Their
jaws chewing away on huge wads of coca leaves as they collect
EXT. DIRT ROAD - COLOMBIA - DAY
Old rickety trucks carrying the huge green tractor-sized
bales speed along the narrow road.
EXT. CLEARING - COLOMBIA - DAY
The bundles are undone and Columbian women separate out the
leaves. Tribes of underweight workers carry armload after
armload of the harvest and ritualistically dump them into a
gigantic cannibal pot which sits on top of a raging bonfire.
The leaves are being boiled down and a huge plume of smoke
streaks the sky. Wizened Indios brave the heat and shovel
ashes into the pot to cool the solution.
INT. JUNGLE - COLOMBIA - DAY
A primitive but enormous makeshift lab contains all the
equipment. The machinery. The solutions. The over-sized
vats. Dark-skinned bandoleros smoke cigarettes and sport
automatic weapons at all the points of entry. The coca is
now a "basuco" paste and is being sent in for a wash.
INT. LABORATORY - COLOMBIA - 1989 - DAY
A conveyor belt pours out brick after brick of pure cocaine
hydrochloride. The bricks are wrapped, tied up, weighed, and
stamped with a "P" before being thrown into duffel bags.
EXT. JUNGLE AIRSTRIP - COLOMBIA - DAY
A small twin-engine Cessna is loaded with dozens of duffel
bags and the plane takes off.
EXT. VERO BEACH AIRFIELD - NIGHT
The Cessna touches down.
EXT. WORKSITE - WEYMOUTH - 1966 - DAY
The worksite is busy. George is amongst other workers,
working a summer job. As George is taking five, he looks
across the sight to Fred, who is sweeping up debris. A long
way from being the boss.
INT. COLLEGE ADMISSIONS OFFICE - WEYMOUTH - 1966 - DAY
George stands in line to register for college, wearing his
Brooks Brothers suit, bowtie, and freshly Bryllcreamed hair.
The room is crowded and the line is long. Bob Dylan's
"Subterranean Homesick Blues" blares out of one of the kid's
transistor radios. George looks around the room. He is
uncomfortable. He catches his reflection in the shiny glass
partition and stops. He doesn't like what he sees.
Something is not right. He looks like everyone else. Same
cookie-cutter hair, same cookie-cutter clothes, same cookie
cutter faces. He's a carbon copy.
It's George's turn but he doesn't hear it. "Twenty years of
schooling and they put you on a day shift." The words hit
him like a tone of bricks as he continues to stare at his own
I was standing there, and it was like
the outside of me and the inside of me
didn't match, you know? And then I
looked around the room and it hit me. I
saw my whole life. Where I was gonna
live, what type of car I'd drive, who my
neighbors would be. I saw it all and I
didn't want it. Not that life.
EXT. CONSTRUCTION SITE - WEYMOUTH - 1966 - DAY
George sits with Fred. It's breaktime and Fred eats from a
There's something out there for me, Dad.
Something different. Something free
form, you know? Something for me, and
college just isn't it.
That's too bad. You would have been the
first one in the family.