INT. LOFT APARTMENT - MANHATTAN - MORNING

STEVEN SCHWIMMER, a drama critic, asleep on his bed. He

wears a sleep mask.

The bed is a mattress on a makeshift platform.

Papers strewn on the floor.

An exercise bike.

A desk with and old manual typewriter, reference works,

periodicals, Styrofoam cups.

A cast-off sofa with pants, shirts, sweater, underwear and

socks tossed haphazardly on the cushions and arms.

A counter that sets apart the kitchen area. A portable TV set

on the counter. The remains of dinner for one.

A row of stacked cardboard boxes with mail spilling out on

the floor. Boxes are labeled in crayon: HATE MAIL.

A coffee table with a candle nub in a saucer and six gleaming

rounds of ammunition scattered next to a Llama Comanche .357

Magnum with a checkered walnut stock -- overall length, nine

and a quarter inches.

A Port-O-San toilet, about seven feet high, orange, scarred

and dented -- scavenged from a construction site.

A snapshot on the bedside table. It's a blurry picture of

Steven holding a cat. Steven wears a peaked cap, and a shadow

falls across his face. Next to the picture is a clock radio,

which comes on with a buzz as the clock shows nine AM.

RADIO ANNOUNCER begins to speak --

LONE EAGLE (V.O.)

(softly)

Traffic flowing smoothly on the

Deegan right now but if you're

lucky enough to have a ticket for

tonight's game, be sure to leave

early because it's going to be

bumper to bumper.

Steven does not stir.

EXT. LOFT BUILDING2

Steven's loft is in an old squat building on 47th Street near

Twelfth Avenue. The structure looks abandoned. Graffiti

everywhere. Entranceway filled with debris.

LONE EAGLE (V.O.)

Another day of traffic. Traffic

everywhere I look. Cars stop and

move and stop again. People sit at

the wheel thinking their thoughts.

EXT. UNITED NATIONS PLAZA APTS - - MORNING

The shimmering glass facade of the United Nations Plaza

Apartments at 48th Street and First Avenue. A man visible at

a window on one of the high floors, a cup of coffee in his

hand.

LONE EAGLE (V.O.)

Day in, day out. Red light, green

light. Traffic on the major

arteries and traffic in the little

veins.

From his POV we see the traffic below creeping along, nearly

at a standstill.

LONE EAGLE (V.O.)

Cars, vans, taxis, trucks, limos,

Mopeds, bikes and buses. Emergency

vehicles screaming and wailing.

Birth and death, walk and don't

walk.

The man takes a sip of coffee.

LONE EAGLE (V.O.)

Traffic yesterday, today and

tomorrow. Bumper to bumper, soul to

soul. This is Lone Eagle over and

out.

EXT. 47TH STREET AND FIRST AVENUE - A LITTLE LATER

The same man -- the playwright Nicky Rogan with his hand in

the air, hailing a cab. He is forty-five, vigorous, wearing

well-made sporty clothes.

In a corner of the screen --

OCTOBER 25, 1986

INT. TAXI

Stalled in traffic.

NICKY:

I used to drive a taxi.

DRIVER:

Where you're going, mister?

Nicky glances at the driver's name plate

KAGANOVICH:

ANATOLI:

NICKY:

I used to drive a taxi.

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