And, because I'm mean

Here's a page or two of the screenplay I apologized to and for in the apology piece. I haven't looked at it in ages. It only got worse from here:

Fade to:

INT. AIRPLANE. NIGHT

ANNA CHASE, a young girl of nineteen or twenty, reads an in-flight magazine without interest. She'll look at the page for only a second or two before looking about the cabin or at her watch. She is wearing a gray T-shirt with "UNLV" inscribed on the chest in red. Her light brown hair is in a casual ponytail. Her body language suggests youthful impatience. Finger-tapping, eye-rolling, lip-chewing.

INT. J.R. ROBINSON'S GRILL. NIGHT

The restaurant/bar is bustling with Wednesday night activity. Men and women try desperately to find each other interesting, and the air is filled with hollow laughter. There is a large mirror behind the full-stocked bar.

INT. BACK OFFICE. NIGHT

BRANT EISENBERG, 24, gazes through the one-way window to the bar with relaxed intensity. He cuts a striking figure, the angles of his face sculpted by genetics and time to that of a very handsome man. He is immaculately dressed; his shirt and tie are far more fashionable than his patrons' old Polo shirts. His eyes are like that of a great cat on a nature program: calm, controlled, and predatory.

INT. AIRPORT. NIGHT

Activity is low at Murdock Memorial Air Port. There are only three gates . . .the floor is covered with out-dated orange carpeting. The walls are lined with paintings of fat old white men in even older suits. A few family members and other assorted loved-ones wait in various levels of anticipation for the final flight to arrive. At the end of one row of seats are ANDREW CHASE and his friend LEWIS YU. Lewis, a Chinese-American man in his late-middle-twenties, wears a white T-shirt, blue jeans, and an old white cowboy hat. He is wide-eyed and nervous; he glances at his watch and out the window and taps out a little rhythm on his legs. Andrew (in a white button-down shirt and khaki slacks) smirks, shrugs his shoulders, and returns to reading the three-month-old newsmagazine he found.


Fade to white.

Fade to:

INT. ANDREW'S TRUCK. NIGHT

Anna is flanked by Andrew at the wheel and Lewis next to her. Lewis' arm is around her and her head is cocked towards his shoulder. From time to time, oncoming headlights illuminate the trio brightly.

EXT. J.R. ROBINSON'S. NIGHT

The lights to the restaurant are off, but one comes on in the apartment upstairs, showing a silhouette.

INT. BRANT'S LIVING ROOM. NIGHT

Brant peers out his window, a robe loosely draped over him. He smokes a cigarette and cool-ly scans the streets below.

INT. BRANT'S BEDROOM. NIGHT

A NAKED WOMAN sleeps soundly on the bed.

INT. BRANT'S LIVING ROOM. NIGHT

The apartment is sparsely, functionally, yet stylishly decorated, in the way that a man with taste, some money, and no family can afford. Large TV and stereo, a bookcase lined with new and older novels and the odd baseball trophy from time to time. There are no photographs anywhere.

Brant takes his cigarette and places it in his mouth. He tightens his robe a bit and walks, cigarette dangling, to a modestly-appointed desk. He pulls out a classy, but well-used day planner and peruses through pages of notes, names, and numbers. He gets to the day that just ended and crosses it out. The next day's inscription is simply "Kid's Homecoming Party."

EXT. DOWNTOWN ASHLAND. DAY

Downtown is empty. Nearly, at least. The streets are littered with empty storefronts and a few holdovers from the pre-mall age: a drug store that still serves soda, an Army/Navy surplus store, a couple bars. Cars are parked only near restaurants, one of the two remaining industries in Ashland. On one corner is J.R. Robinson's.

INT. JR ROBINSON'S. DAY

There is a light mid-Saturday crowd, mulling about the bar and tables. The far corner is decorated with a computer-printout "Welcome Back Kid" banner. In said corner, Brant, Lewis, Andrew, Anna, and a few more of Anna's age sit around a table. All are laughing, and even Brant smiles. They chew their food while telling stories.