INT. CARLOS’ WAREHOUSE – DAY

A squeamishly dressed man in his forties lights a cigarette. He takes a deep drag as the faint clouds fan him and fill the air of the dirty room.

FRANK

Well, well. Quite a nice place you have prepared for me. And this for me. A guy with thinning hair and a good dress, simply wanting to go home. But who am I saying this, you already know that by seeing me, aren’t ya?

Frank pleasurably takes another drag and pauses for a moment.

FRANK

Shit. This means my talking is unnecessary. Redundant. And you know what? Redundant is simply another word for irrelevant. When you hit a certain point it is almost impossible to be not redundant. And it is the same with humans.

Franks wants to take another drag but stops his movement mid-air. His face gets stony.

FRANK

There are 6 billion people on this shitty dirtball and you cannot tell me that there isn’t someone who has at least one similar counterpart. And when you have a counterpart you are irrelevant. Or your counterpart. But who am I to say you have to find your counterpart. This is almost impossible. So let’s hope that I found the irrelevant one of you both because otherwise I couldn’t stand myself for at least two days.

Frank slowly stands up and reaches for something in his jacket. CARLOS wide-eyed observes each movement of Frank. He breathes heavily through his gag. His eyes freeze as a metallic sound pierces through the air.

BAM.

Leave a reply