INT. ZITO'S BREAD STORY - DAY
Several dozen loaves of golden Italian bread are standing on
end in a shaft of morning sunlight. They are standing on end
in bins. In the window, ZITO'S can be read in reverse.
We leave the loaves and DRIFT DOWN TO a Progresso Products
calendar, which hangs from the wall by a nail. The month is
November. Various phone numbers and delivery dates have been
penned in in a rough scrawl. Now WE GO TO a white formica
counter, scuffed and pocked from long use. On the counter,
in a rinsed out olive jar filled with water, are three fat
red roses. The TITLE APPEARS IN BLACK SCRIPT AGAINST THE
Now WE FAINTLY HEAR THE VOICE of Zito himself, and a low
TAPPING SOUND. SOME CREDITS ROLL.
Three times they cancel the order
with me, and three times they come
back. Who they kidding? They cheap,
cheap, cheap. The other bread they
get is no good. They save pennies.
Everybody complain and they come
back. "Zito, your bread is the best."
They're like children stupid in school
who cannot learn. The water. It's
the water. You buy bread in Hoboken,
you get Hoboken water. Hoboken water
is dry. Ask anybody who knows. Ask
your father. He knows.
During Zito's plaintive words, WE LEAVE the roses and MOVE
DOWN the counter TO a calculator being tapped very efficiently
with the eraser end of pencil. When the results appear, the
pencil notes the figure in a threadbare old ledger.
NOW WE SEE ZITO:
He's a middle-aged Italian man with a kind face. But it's
early in the day, and he's already been working for hours,
so he's a little tired and disgruntled.
You want me to make you some coffee?
NOW WE SEE LORETTA FOR THE FIRST TIME
She's entering a few final figures in the ledger. LORETTA is
Italian, 37. Her hair black, done in a dated style, is flecked
with grey. She's dressed in sensible but unfashionable clothes
of a dark color.
What d'you know about coffee? Gimme
a loaf of bread.
EXT. ZITO'S BREAD STORE - DAY
Loretta emerges with her little weathered leather bookkeeping
satchel and a loaf of Zito bread in a white paper bag. She
moves off briskly.
EXT. A.J. CONTI FUNERAL CHAPEL - DAY
This is a little Italian funeral parlor.
INT. THE "WAKE" ROOM"
A generic little room filled with many flowers and wreathes,
many folding chairs, a few OLD PEOPLE sitting and, up front,
the star of the show, the CORPSE on display in his gold and
formica casket. Before the casket is a little kneeler. We
discover an OLD LADY there, who crosses herself and rises.