I don’t remember ever writing one of these while there was still daylight, so we’ll just have to wait and see how it goes.
Sorry I’ve neglected you…my readership of eight and a half. I’ve been away for a while. Been through a lot. Like a slave finally crossing into Yankee soil after an endless stretch on the Underground Railroad. Free at last, free at last…oh God almighty…free at last.
If you think that’s a terribly insensitive analogy…what a waste of energy.
It’s raining in LA. I just came back from spin class. Our teacher said she could feel the heaviness in the room. The depression. Live in So-Cal long enough, and you get used to such banter. Everything turns into a meditation.
Heaviness? Is that even a word? I know it is, but it certainly shouldn’t be. Especially because the words uttered from her mouth…the negative connotation that blew in with the rain was anything but. I wake up and hear the pattering on my air conditioner and smile. I feel the drops break against my face and soak them up. I sit here, speaking to you…surrounded by this bleak day and own nothing but my own content.
It’s a combination of a number of things. Floating things. The prospect of success…love…life unbound. The need to be overthrown by all. Only freedom liberates such feeling. So what’s next? I don’t know. Any number of good or terrible things.
But for you, I’m dry. And no abbreviation for the state of Kentucky is going to change that. Dry because I’m spending my currency elsewhere. That little project I talked shit about for so long. The one I claimed would launch me out of anonymity. Let’s break down my post Tower Bar life schedule…Monday thru Friday…on average…per 24 hours.
7 hours – Bizarre Dreams
2 hours – Internet tangents
1.5 hours – Shaping my girlish figure at the neighborhood Equinox
2 hours – Grove or Netflix
1.5 hours – 3 semi square, shower, ducking phone calls, masturbation, the occasional returned call
10 hours – Me and my computer. Me and my thoughts. Me and the same music playing over and over in the background. Snapping out of a trance every 54 minutes or after a scene, wondering who the hell I am…where the hell I was.
Where does that leave you, me…us? I’m just really focused on my career right now, and I don’t think it would be fair to try this. You don’t deserve anything less than an honest shot. I mean, come on…look at you. You’re amazing. In every way a guy could ever hope. And I hate to use this because it’s such a cliché…but it’s not you…it’s me. There are just parts of me that…haven’t healed. Parts of me that may never heal…and that’s not fair. So for now…I think it would be best if we just…you know.
Sucker.
I’m not breaking up. Isn’t it funny though…how we all use the same lines. Like there’s some instinctual rule governing the exact procedure in hurting someone. I guess funny depends on which side you’re on.
I’ve just got to get back into the swing of you and me. It’s been too long. Hopefully, you’ve noticed.
I’ll leave you with something…not because it’s exemplary…but because where else do you start but page 1???
**********
INT. NEW YORK PUBLIC LIBRARY
An old and LONELY MAN, 64, sits at an empty booth, finishing Moby Dick. He’s wearing an old white suit over a yellow shirt. There’s a faint coffee stain on his lapel. It’s possible he’s senile.
He closes the book and walks out.
EXT. NEW YORK CITY - BROADWAY & 34TH - DAY
Late Summer, the Lonely Man walks down Broadway.
Blaring engines roar. A wave of police cars speed North. Just as they pass, a wave of ambulances head South. The Lonely Man stops in the middle, watching as they both cut waves through the traffic.
EXT. WEST 4TH STREET COURTS - DAY
An intense pick up basketball game. A large crowd is gathered. The Lonely Man stands to watch, his face pressed against the chain link fence.
Top of the key, the star of the court surveys the lane. An amazing talent, talking it up as fast as his first step. Your mom, your wife, my kids.
He beats his man with a blinding step. Just as he goes into the air, the defender catches up, slamming him to the ground with a hard, cheap foul.
The teams, the stands...all erupt into a terrible brawl at half-court. The Lonely Man departs.
EXT. WASHINGTON SQUARE PARK - DAY
The Lonely Man paces through the park, slowing beside an outlandish PREACHER who stumbles gallantly through a speech.
Few listen. Most pass through without notice.
PREACHER
Steer clear the darkness of temptation. For I have seen the dawning of a poison horizon. We are strong and must now and forever remain unwavering against the destruction of eev-ill.
The Lonely Man continues on.
EXT. NEW YORK CITY - FINANCIAL DISTRICT - DAY
The Lonely Man walks past the stock exchange.
He comes to a watching stop at a newspaper vendor, where a WOMAN with a Stroller waits in line. A twenty dollar bill falls from her purse and to the ground. A MAN waiting behind her tactfully slides his shoe over the bill. When she leaves, he picks up the bill and puts it into his pocket.
The Lonely Man looks on with a heartbreaking disappointment before his glare fixes to the cover of the New York Post: Is Our City Lost?
We draw close on his face as he’s carried into a trance.
FLASHBACK - SATURATED GRAY - SERIES OF RANDOM SCENES
Conveinance store robbery and gunfire...
A crooked landlord burning down a low income highrise...
Crowds of people. No one speaks. No one Smiles. No one stops to help. This is New York City. This is our world. This is Now...
**********
It needs a bit of smoothing, which will come in time. And speaking of been done before…eventually, that Preacher has got to go. It’s tough to be sexy the second time through. I want to put the open up now to show you what it will look like in 50 days…when it’s finished.
And it’s not quite as sincere as I let on.
Guess the Lonely Man and win a prize…really. I’ll think of something.
