(pages 10, 11 & 12)
INT. SMALL’S BAR – NIGHT
A low-brow neighborhood bar. A dark and seedy place. Not the kind of place you’d expect a surgeon to drop by. There is a long bar rail with bar stools and only a handful of booths and tables.
There is no one at the bar rail and only a few people seated at the booth.
The proprietor and current bartender, LOU SMALLS, 52, looking every part the biker with long gray streaked hair and beard, tattoos running up and down each arm with a white short sleeve t-shirt, blue jeans and silver chain attached to his wallet in his back pocket, is wiping beer steins clean when Sam walks in.
Hey, Sam. How are you doing?
Hey, Lou. Give me a glass of your finest scotch. I’m celebrating.
Sam has a seat at the bar.
Lou grabs a bottle of scotch.
Oh yeah? What’s the occasion?
I retired today.
No shit? Well, congratulations!
Lou pours the scotch in a tumbler over some ice cubes.
How many years were you there?
Too many. Too fucking many.
Lou plops the drink on a napkin in front of Sam.
That one’s on me. Congratulations, again.
Thanks a lot, Lou. I appreciate it.
Let me pour one for myself and we can toast.
Lou pours the same drink for himself.
Lou holds his glass up.
Sam goes to pick up his glass, and just before he grabs it, his hand starts to tremble. He snags it with his opposite hand and holds it.
Is something wrong.
No. No. I’m fine.
Sam lets his hand go and grabs his drink and holds it up.
The two tap glasses together and drink. Lou takes a sip. Sam drinks the whole thing.
Sam smacks the glass back down.
Time has passed and the bar is full with all the bar stools taken and most of the tables occupied.
Sam can barely keep his eyes open and is swaying in his stool. He puts his arm on the bar and starts tapping it to get Lou’s attention.
Lou comes over.
I’ve got a taxi on the way, Sam. He’s going to take you home.
I want another drink.
Lou pours him a glass of water.
Here’s some water.
(speech is slurred)
I don’t want water. Another scotch!
I can’t Sam, it’s closing time. The taxi is going to take you home.
Sam closes his eyes.
I don’t want to go home. There’s nothing for me there.
More time passes and the bar has fewer people in it. The TAXI DRIVER, a black man, 36, enters.
Lou, who needs a taxi?
Lou points to Sam who has his head buried into his arms on the bar. He appears to be sleeping.
Really? You wanna give me a hand?
The Taxi Driver and Lou carry Sam out the door.