FADE IN:

EXT. SOUTH BOSTON ST. PATRICK'S DAY PARADE -- DAY

CUT TO:

INT. L STREET BAR & GRILLE, SOUTH BOSTON -- EVENING

The bar is dirty, more than a little run down. If there is

ever a cook on duty, he's not here now. As we pan across

several empty tables, we can almost smell the odor of last

nights beer and crushed pretzels on the floor.

CHUCKIE:

Oh my God, I got the most fucked up

thing I been meanin' to tell you.

As the camera rises, we find FOUR YOUNG MEN seated around a

table near the back of the bar.

ALL:

Oh Jesus. Here we go.

The guy holding court is CHUCKIE SULLIVAN, 20, and the largest

of the bunch. He is loud, boisterous, a born entertainer.

Next to him is WILL HUNTING, 20, handsome and confident, a

softspoken leader. On Will's right sits BILLY MCBRIDE, 22,

heavy, quiet, someone you definitely wouldn't want to tangle

with.

Finally there is MORGAN O'MALLY, 19, smaller than the other

guys. Wiry and anxious, Morgan listens to Chuckie's horror

stories with eager disgust.

All four boys speak with thick Boston accents. This is a

rough, working class Irish neighborhood and these boys are

its product.

CHUCKIE:

You guys know my cousin Mikey

Sullivan?

ALL:

Yeah.

CHUCKIE:

Well you know how he loves animals

right? Anyway, last week he's drivin'

home...

(laughs)

ALL:

What? Come on!

CHUCKIE:

(trying not to laugh)

I'm sorry, 'cause you know Mikey,

the fuckin guy loves animals, and

this is the last person you'd want

this to happen to.

WILL:

Chuckie, what the fuck happened?

CHUCKIE:

Okay. He's driving along and this

fuckin' cat jumps in front of his

car, and so he hits this cat--

Chuckie is really laughing now.

MORGAN:

--That isn't funny--

CHUCKIE:

--and he's like "shit! Motherfucker!"

And he looks in his rearview and

sees this cat -- I'm sorry--

BILLY:

Fuckin' Chuckie!

CHUCKIE:

So he sees this cat tryin to make it

across the street and it's not lookin'

so good.

WILL:

It's walkin' pretty slow at this

point.

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