Trouble at the diner

A screenwriting work in progress.

Season’s greetings…

It’s time to start sharing more little bits of work across my practice. I sense that the longer magazine-y collections of arts and culture stories are too much for some readers so let’s mix it up with more snackable items.

But do tell me if I’m wrong.

I am developing a script for a short film that will hopefully be taken forward early next year. While looking over my notes, I rediscovered this task I completed on a self-guided screenwriting course earlier in the year.

What do you think? Want to know what happens next?

Remember, Substack users can like, comment and restack below. If you’re reading this in your email account, just hit reply and write to me. I’m lonely.

Expect a round-up of personal highlights in the next week, along with a few things I am looking forward to in 2025 ✌🏾

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Exercise: write a scene relating to eating that suggests character and voice

Genre: Noir, thriller

INT. DINER. AFTERNOON

A dark-suited stranger sits upright at a diner table in downtown LA. He takes a sip from his chilled glass of water and places it carefully back on a napkin before meticulously arranging the cutlery on the table. The fork and knife are at a perfect right angle to its edge.

A waitress whizzes past and knocks the table. Unflustered, he cleans up the spillage and repositions the cutlery.

Another waitress approaches with his order.

WAITRESS
Pastrami on rye with…

She looks at him, inquisitively. Is it the specificity of the order or something else?

WAITRESS (CONT’D)
No crusts. You sure you want this side a salad? The fries here are much better for ya.

STRANGER
You my quack doctor now too as well as my dealer?

WAITRESS
(Irritated and in a hushed tone)
Hey, keep it down, are you crazy?

STRANGER
I need a little score …

He makes a big thing of looking at her name badge, dismissively.

STRANGER
L-O-R-R-A-I-N-E! None a that Mickey Mouse microdose bullshit. I want a one-way ticket to Tranqville.

WAITRESS
I told you I don't do that no more.

The man smiles as he clenches his fist. A bead or two of sweat begins to appear on his furrowed brow. A crack in his calm exterior.

STRANGER
Have you forgotten what happened the last time you let me down?

WAITRESS
Look man, I'm on a double shift of everyone's problem is my problem. Can’t you just find another place to drown?

STRANGER
Ok, let me put it like this. If you don’t got a little something for me by the time I eat this sandwich, I am going over to your little girl’s school with my AR-15 and …

Well … you use your imagination.

You can see the menace in his eyes.

WAITRESS
Don’t you…

STRANGER
Then do your f*&kin job and give me what I need.

WAITRESS
And then what? You’re back again next week… I told you, this life is past tense for me. Why can’t you just go crawl around MacArthur for your next fix?

He takes a bite of a carrot and smiles.

STRANGER
Well hell, I guess I just like your service.

WAITRESS
God damn, ok, ok…

She checks the clock on the wall.

WAITRESS
Give me 20 minutes and meet me down the side street by the Korean laundromat.

He smiles but it’s a smile of mild desperation more than relief.

STRANGER
Well, alllriiight then. I knew I came to the right place.

The waitress removes her apron and stares at the sandwich.

WAITRESS
Enjoy your meal.

She scurries off to the back to collect her things.

WAITRESS
I’m going on my break, Joe.

The Stranger, feeling kinda pleased with himself and a little excited, takes the sandwich in both hands and chomps a huge bite out of it. The delicious taste gives way to panic.

Something isn’t right. His body folds in on itself and his face falls flat into the plate of salad.

Just then, his phone on the table dings. The message is from “Scarr” and reads “there in 5.”

– Fade to black –