Season Ticket

Season Ticket

 

EXT. HIGH WAY FILLED WITH CARS

 

The sun is blazing. Heat rises in bubbling waves from the

pavement. Traffic is backed up. It’s at a complete

standstill. Noise blares from open car windows as people

taunt some non-existent breeze. We come to a relatively old

car. Paint is thinning. There’s a big dent in it on the

side.

 

INT. HAROLD’S CAR

 

Two people sitting in the front of the car. One a lumpy man;

bald, pot-belly, round glasses pushed up into wispy blond

hair. The other passenger is a very large woman, bulbous,

rotund, oozing unpleasant pale flesh from under a floral

moo-moo. She is loudly snacking on a big bag of Cheetos.

DEBBIE

Are we moving? Harold, look and see if

we’re moving.

 

HAROLD

(doesn’t move)

Naw, Deb, we’re not moving.

 

DEBBIE

We’re going to be late.

 

HAROLD

No one will care if we’re late.

We’ll get there when we get there.

 

DEBBIE

That’s just your answer to

everything, isn’t it? When are you going to get

the phone fixed? You could call

them and tell them we’re going to

be late. When will that get done?

 

HAROLD

I’ll get around to it when we get

back, alright?

 

DEBBIE shakes the bag of Cheetos again, scoffing. She sticks

a stubby little hand into the bag, digging around for the

perfect Cheeto.

 

DEBBIE

Just like everything else. (frustrated,

she looks into the back) Do we have

any more of that Alighieri wine?

That was good. The powder gives it

that kick of zing.

 

HAROLD

You drank it all. I wanted a sip,

but you drank it all.

 

DEBBIE

(turning back around, looking

disheveled. She’s slightly out

of breath)

You didn’t fight me for it so I

didn’t think you wanted any.

 

HAROLD

I don’t fight you on anything.

 

DEBBIE

Because you’re not as dumb as you

look. (beat) You should buy some

more of that wine.

 

HAROLD

I got it for my birthday as a gift. We

can’t afford that stuff.

 

EXT. HIGH WAY FILLED WITH CARS

 

Heat rises. Time passes. Cars move.

 

INT. HAROLD’S CAR

 

Harold and Debbie’s car roll forward. They pull up next to

another car. The girl is very loud, big sunglasses pushed

down on her nose and holding a tumbler of lemonade,

complaining and the man is getting irritated.

 

 

EVA

I know you think your girlfriend is hotter

than me.

 

MIKE

For fuck’s sake, Ev, your my

fucking sister. Of course I think

my girlfriend is hotter you.

 

EVA

God, you dickhead, you know what I

meant! She is so fucking beautiful.

She’s got that perfect fucking

hair– Mom just loves that she’s

blonde. And holy shit, the

mountains on her chest– what the

fuck is that! How is that fair?

 

MIKE

(groaning)

Christ, don’t remind me.

 

MIKE leans against the car window, his very expensive watch

sparkling in the sun.

 

EVA

And it’s so totally like you to get

the perfect girlfriend. You got all

the fucking awards in high school.

All the fucking teachers loved you.

You always had the best fucking

clothes–

 

MIKE

Yeah, I did. My shit was always the

best. It had to be.

 

MIKE takes a big gulp of water. EVA watches him with an open

mouth.

 

EVA

You asshole! Mike, I said, like

thirty minutes ago, I wanted water!

 

MIKE

Yeah, well, this is my water. My

BMW, my water, my fucking rules. If

you don’t like it, you can walk.

 

EVA

(her eyes slits, glaring)

Whatever, asshole, I hope you’re

happy in hell. ’Cuz that’s where

you’re going.

 

MIKE

(smiling sickly sweet at her)

Save you a seat, little sis.

 

EVA

(slumping back in her seat,

nearly spilling the lemonade)

Fuck you.

 

MIKE

Watch the fucking drink! These

seats are custom leather! Don’t get

your shit everywhere!

 

EVA

I hope you get your dick bitten off

by a rabid dog.

 

EXT. HIGH WAY FILLED WITH CARS

 

We move forward. More heat. More sweat. More time.

 

As HAROLD’s car rolls on, DEBBIE’s eyes grow wide. She

points with a orange-tinted finger. She stomps her pudgy

feet, kicking around the empty bags of chips on the floor.

 

DEBBIE

Harold! Look! Those people!

 

A car beside them is running idly. The driver, a man, is

resting with his head back, his mouth sagging in pleasure. A

woman’s head is bent over his lap. The AC is cranked up

high, blowing their hair everywhere.

 

DEBBIE

The indecency of some people! Are you

looking, Harold? It’s disgusting! There are

children around!

 

HAROLD

I suppose it’s better than playing

cards.

 

DEBBIE

Oh, come on, it’s. . . wanna try?

 

HAROLD

(sighing)(matter o’ factly)

It’s too hot.

 

DEBBIE

(shrugs and wipes her hand

clean on the arm rest. She

digs into the Cheetos again)

Your loss. We moving?

 

HAROLD

No.

 

DEBBIE

Did you check?

 

HAROLD

Yes.

 

ZOOM on DEBBIE’S face. We see things from her point of

view.

 

A man in a few cars over is screaming into his cell phone.

His face is red. His tie is cutting into his neck flesh. He

yanks out the buttons of his collar– they go flying

everywhere. He is shouting, the noise muffled under the

closed windows. He begins hitting the window with the side

of his fit. DEBBIE watches as he keeps beating the window,

until he breaks through it. His anger quells momentarily as

blood run downs his wrist and onto his elbow. Someone says

something to him from the phone and he launches back into a

shouting match.

 

ZOOM on HAROLD’s face

 

He watches an older woman apply makeup. She already has

mascara on, but still she applies a new layer. The front of

her car is dented. Her hair sits on top of her head in a snug

bun. Sweat rolls off the back of her neck and down over her

shoulder, into the crevice of her breast.

 

HAROLD watches the sweat without changing his expression or

moving at all. The woman catches him watching and she

scowls. She tosses a strand of hair behind her ear,

“ignoring” him but she leans forward with her mouth open and

continues to apply make up.

 

 

EXT. HIGH WAY FILLED WITH CARS

 

CU on sign: Welcome To Styx

 

 

INT. HAROLD’S CAR

 

DEBBIE sees the sign.

 

DEBBIE

Styx? Harold, what the hell? You

said we took the right exit!

 

HAROLD

Maybe we didn’t.

 

DEBBIE

How many fucking times did I tell

you to look?

 

Furious, DEBBIE starts eating rapidly. Bits of Cheetos go

flying from her mouth. The crunch of her teeth is magnified.

 

DEBBIE

(series of uncomfortable Close

Up shots of her eating)

I have to do fucking everything

around here. You know I’m diabetic.

I need to keep my weight at a

constant level or I could die. Do

you want that, Harold? Do you want

me to die?

 

HAROLD

I don’t think we took the wrong

exit. There wasn’t an exit to take.

 

DEBBIE

No exit? (scoffing) That’s fucking

rich. There’s always an exit, you

fucker.

 

HAROLD

I don’t know. Maybe we’re just lost.

 

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