Story - 'Gold Mercedes'

FADE IN:

INT. LOW-RENT SEASIDE COFFEE SHOP – DAY

Bad musak, ambient clatter of crockery, the susurration of conversation. HARRY CARTER, 45, handsome, these days just a little south of cool. His mate, MIKE SWANN, 43, one of life's duckers and divers, could sell someone a headache, types mechanically on his phone.

HARRY

OK. Come on.

INT. GOLD MERCEDES — DAY

HARRY

What we need is the Jagger gang.

MIKE

This is why you don't have friends, isn't it?

(into his phone)

Yeah, of course, no worries. We've got 'em. Meet you there in a bit.

XT. SEASIDE PROMENADE – DAY

HARRY and MIKE lean up against the bonnet of the car, saying nothing.

EXT. SEASIDE PROMENADE BENCH – DAY

Surf hisses beyond the sea wall. Gulls laugh, and fight for scraps.

HARRY

How long?

MIKE

The eternal question!

HARRY

No. I.-

MIKE

Sharp suit, posh car. A man could go anywhere.

HARRY

Right. But there's no way what you're wearing is a proper suit. And the car's mine.

INT. GOLD MERCEDES – DAY

HARRY

You sure this is the place?

MIKE

What the man said.

EXT. RUINED CAR PARK – DAY

HARRY

Okaayy. Ruined concrete dystopia, check. Probable violent death at the diseased hands of killer zombie gangs roaming the nightmare abyss looking for easy meat... check.

INT. GOLD MERCEDES – LATER

HARRY

Let's walk.

EXT. BEACH – DAY

Endless sands punctuated by bleak edifices.

MIKE

Said he was coming.

HARRY

Screw it.

MIKE

Makes you think, though, yeah?

HARRY

Sure. Makes me... something, anyway

MIKE

I mean, we're all hurtling towards oblivion. May as well do it in style. Sharp suit, posh car. A man could go anywhere...

FADE OUT.