People in bad moods make me laugh, or at least those that present a strong scowl on their face. Whenever I smile at a stranger and they look at me as if I’ve spat at them, it actually gives me a kick, a buzz of sorts. I don’t understand why they’re so grumpy or afraid to show a stranger any humanity. These are probably the same types of people that automatically assume everyone is trying to hit on them or ignore a desolate desperate homeless person asking for change. Oh well.
“If you change nothing, nothing will change” —@TonyRobbins
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STEVE: [finishing a sip of Pepsi] Well?
JOE: I have a priceless birthday present for you. You’ve never received anything like this I guarantee it.
Joe hands Steve the gift wrapped shirt box.
STEVE: [puzzled] Okay. What does that mean?
JOE: You’ll see. From now on you can’t say I always get you the same thing every year. Haha.
STEVE: Alright, I’ll see you at “Kiss Hands” right?
JOE: No problem. Good luck.
Steve looks extremely puzzled, nods and leaves.
INT. STEVE’S LIVING ROOM – EARLY EVENING
Steve opens the box and pulls out the content. He thumbs through a variety of photos before he sees some that resemble Elizabeth alongside Richard at their home.
He slowly browses through a few more and realizes that it definitely is her in the pictures.
Taken aback by what he’s just seen, he proceeds to read the handwritten notes.
“NAME: RICHARD EATON AGE: 56”
Steve flips a page.
“Profession: Philosophy Professor
Physical Fitness: Out of shape; not overweight, not fit.
Daily Habits: N/A.
Will be walking around the University park tonight wearing a black trench-coat with a Scots tweed cap.”
Steve flips a few more pages until he reaches the last.
“A sizeable sum was negotiated – you have £16,250 alongside these notes.”
He looks away from the notes and closes his eyes. His posture is very straight. Steve throws down the notes and punches the box of photos and money.
Dragging his left hand down his face, he pulls at the skin as the hand slides, then begins laughing.
He heads into his bedroom and comes out with a small organizer. Flipping through the empty pages, he comes to Joe’s phone number, then to Robbie’s. He notes them down, then leaves.
INT. CLASSIC RED LONDON PHONE BOOTH – EARLY EVENING
Steve leans against the glass with the phone receiver against his ear.
STEVE: Nah, but it’s a joke right?
JOE (PHONE): Steve, what the fuck? What do you mean it’s a joke? I keep telling you I knew nothing about Liz!
STEVE: I know you and Robbie! It’s a joke – ha bloody ha!
JOE (PHONE): I have no idea what you’re talking about Steve. I haven’t spoken to Robbie about this at all.
STEVE: Stop this shit Joe. It ain’t funny!
JOE (PHONE): [slowly] I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about!
STEVE: Please, tell me ya do. The joke has gone far enough.
Steve waits for a response.
JOE (PHONE): There’s no joke here Steve. Yeah it ain’t your typical job, but, it’s not a joke. If anything, I can assure you of that.
His face becomes blank and his grip on the phone loosens as his arm drops to his waist.
After ten seconds Steve clenches the phone again.
JOE (PHONE) (CONT’D): Steve? Steve? You there still?