Strange Days Page #6

LENNY PULLS UP to the security checkpoint of a gated

community. The white upper-middle class hiding behind

walls and paid security.

LORI:

If you read the Bible, Mark, you'd

know that there won't be another

thousand years. Right now we are in

the Last Days, as foretold in the

book of--

HOST:

The Last Days? You mean the coming

of the Apocalypse, right? The

Rapture?

Lenny fishes around in the glove compartment, flipping

through about twenty plastic security passes for different

parts of town, all bogus. He finds the right one and

flips it onto the dash.

LORI:

Yes, that's right. You only have to

look at the signs... there are wars

and rumors of wars--

The RENT A COP at the guardshack hits him with his light.

LENNY:

(lying)

I live here.

The cop waves him through. Lenny is the right color.

HOST:

Now just so the rest of us know how

much time is left, when is the

Rapture supposed to hit, exactly?

Is it midnight New Year's Eve?

And WE CUT to a burst of news videotape, enlarged, noisy,

distorted... images of a great gathering in the desert,

the faithful waiting for God's sign as the millennium

approaches.

HOST:

Is that midnight LA time, or Eastern

Standard or what? I mean, what time

zone is God in, anyway?

LORI:

I pray for you all.

Lenny's BMW cruises past an overturned burning car. There

is no-one around. He barely glances at it. Common sight

these days. If it is the end of the world, Lenny's not

going to let it break his rhythm.

LENNY:

(cellular)

I just got something in, Bobby, you

might appreciate. A 211 at a Thai

joint goes south, and these three

scuzzballs end up in a gun-and-run.

It's a beauty, two thumbs up.

Parental discretion advised. I'm

talking it's the master, not some

stepped-on copy. One of a kind.

LENNY INSIDE A GLOOMY BAR. He slides into a booth with

NORM SKINNER, a paunchy guy with thinning hair who dresses

too young. A pretty, stoned-looking girl is leaning

against Skinner.

LENNY:

Yo, Skinner. The Skin Man.

(fingering his

jacket)

Red leather. Nice feminine touch.

SKINNER:

(laughing)

F*** you, Nero.

LENNY:

Whattya got for me?

CUT TO:
POV of a woman writhing above us in ecstasy.

Lovemaking in point-of-view. We look down, see OUR BODY,

a woman's body... our hands moving over the other woman's

torso. The image is dark, a primal impression. Sound of

harsh breathing, rustling sheets.

BACK TO LENNY in the booth with Skinner. Lenny has

Skinner's tape running in a playback deck clipped to his

belt, next to his pager. He is hunched over the table,

"sampling" the merchandise by touching a few of the trode

pads to his temple without putting on the whole headset.

Like a coke dealer taking a little on the fingernail.

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