FADE IN:
INT. BAR RESTROOM- 1 A.M.
Two men enter the unforgiving, harshly fluorescent lit restroom shortly after one another through chestnut-wood saloon-style doors. One of the bulbs is slightly flickering. The porcelain wall tiles are dingy white and those closer to the ground have gathered calcium sediment. There are only three urinals and the toilet is occupied. It is close quarters.
PREACHR-BRO, late-20s, donning a medium-brown man bun, a red tank top, and ripped jeans. He has a mandala tattoo on one shoulder and some tribal work from his back peeking out onto the other. His skin is lightly bronzed and his muscles are huge. Has been partying with a cluster of bros for a few hours.
NOT-SO-BRO'S POV
He hears the other man unzip next to him and is tensely trying to avoid eye contact.
Peripherally, he can see the man's unorthodox scanning:
PREACHR-BRO
Have you felt the
Zen, bro?
NOT-SO-BRO
(clears throat)
No...uh...I'm not really into that sort of thing.
No...uh...I'm not really into that sort of thing.
PREACHR-BRO
No?
Lighten up and let the light in,
You're way too stiff, it's just not right, bro
I used to be troubled just like you bro; here's the secret:
Lighten up and let the light in,
You're way too stiff, it's just not right, bro
I used to be troubled just like you bro; here's the secret:
Well ya gotta lift from like nine to ten, bro,
Drink lots of beer
with lots of men, bro,
Lay the cock with
many a hen, bro,
Yeah… uh… just repeat
steps one through three forever
and again, bro.
and again, bro.
NOT-SO-BRO
(His eyes shift awkward and confusedly)
Uh...okay...thanks...
Uh...okay...thanks...
PREACHR-BRO zips up and as he heads towards the doors he looks back at NOT-SO-BRO:
PREACHR-BRO
Yo, have a beer on us and I'll show you the way,
Catch ya on the flip side bro!
(eyes wide, he playfully sticks his tongue out and quickly flicks his hand in the "hang-loose"sign)
NOT-SO-BRO
(sheepishly off-put)
Aren’t you...uh...going to wash your hands, BRO?
PREACHR-BRO
(smiling nonchalantly)
Oh…yeah…amen to
that bro!
NOT-SO-BRO finishes as PREACHR-BRO washes his hands. He lingers, waiting for PREACHR-BRO to leave:
PREACHR-BRO exits.
NOT-SO-BRO walks up to the sink, also white porcelain and stained with rust near the drain. He places both hands upon it and leans forward to the point at which there is only a few inches between his face and the mirror. He sees his green eyes, the same ones that his mother always said were his best feature, but now had rings left behind where the planet sized stressful days had continuously orbited. He sees that his bushy eye brows (once joked about being more of a forest than a bush given all of the stragglers) are becoming littered with silver, overgrown like the ones he remembered touching on his grandfather's face when he sat on his lap. He sees the light creases in his slightly rounder cheeks from times he used to smile more or maybe had more to smile about. Overcome by this sudden vulnerability, he blinks a few times and shakes his head to shake out the realization that maybe he could benefit from a few changes. But the feeling lingers. He washes his hands even more thoroughly than usual and splashes water on his face. For the brief moment he is drying off, he considers that maybe letting the light in lightens the load without lightening the load: maybe he could make more time for the gym and get some chicks and even maybe work less and live more.
NOT-SO-BRO exits.
FADE OUT.
FADE IN:
INT. BAR-MAIN ROOM- 1:10 A.M.
The bar is dim, but not dark; the old ceiling fixtures lend an orange haze to the intoxicated shifting shapes. It's comfortably populated, leaving enough space to get a drink at the bar without grazing a shoulder, but dense enough to fill the gaps between those experiencing a solitude that would otherwise be solitary.
PREACHR-BRO is having a vivacious conversation with the other bros at a table just off of the bar counter; his hands and half smile are gesturing something vaguely sexual and the companions are laughing along in affirmation.
NOT-SO-BRO enters.
NOT-SO-BRO leans on the wall adjacent to the restroom. It gives him a fair vantage point of the crowd. He scans the crowd for PREACHR-BRO and begins to approach the group. At the instance he hears the muffled amalgamation of their laughter, his eyes point down once again, making every effort to avoid eye contact. As he shuffles past their table, he shoves his hands in his pants pockets. His left hand searches for a five dollar bill while the right clasps all of the loose fabric it can gather. Head down, he leaves the five on the counter.
NOT-SO-BRO exits.
FADE OUT.
End scene.
NOT-SO-BRO finishes as PREACHR-BRO washes his hands. He lingers, waiting for PREACHR-BRO to leave:
PREACHR-BRO exits.
NOT-SO-BRO walks up to the sink, also white porcelain and stained with rust near the drain. He places both hands upon it and leans forward to the point at which there is only a few inches between his face and the mirror. He sees his green eyes, the same ones that his mother always said were his best feature, but now had rings left behind where the planet sized stressful days had continuously orbited. He sees that his bushy eye brows (once joked about being more of a forest than a bush given all of the stragglers) are becoming littered with silver, overgrown like the ones he remembered touching on his grandfather's face when he sat on his lap. He sees the light creases in his slightly rounder cheeks from times he used to smile more or maybe had more to smile about. Overcome by this sudden vulnerability, he blinks a few times and shakes his head to shake out the realization that maybe he could benefit from a few changes. But the feeling lingers. He washes his hands even more thoroughly than usual and splashes water on his face. For the brief moment he is drying off, he considers that maybe letting the light in lightens the load without lightening the load: maybe he could make more time for the gym and get some chicks and even maybe work less and live more.
NOT-SO-BRO exits.
FADE OUT.
FADE IN:
INT. BAR-MAIN ROOM- 1:10 A.M.
The bar is dim, but not dark; the old ceiling fixtures lend an orange haze to the intoxicated shifting shapes. It's comfortably populated, leaving enough space to get a drink at the bar without grazing a shoulder, but dense enough to fill the gaps between those experiencing a solitude that would otherwise be solitary.
PREACHR-BRO is having a vivacious conversation with the other bros at a table just off of the bar counter; his hands and half smile are gesturing something vaguely sexual and the companions are laughing along in affirmation.
NOT-SO-BRO enters.
NOT-SO-BRO leans on the wall adjacent to the restroom. It gives him a fair vantage point of the crowd. He scans the crowd for PREACHR-BRO and begins to approach the group. At the instance he hears the muffled amalgamation of their laughter, his eyes point down once again, making every effort to avoid eye contact. As he shuffles past their table, he shoves his hands in his pants pockets. His left hand searches for a five dollar bill while the right clasps all of the loose fabric it can gather. Head down, he leaves the five on the counter.
NOT-SO-BRO exits.
FADE OUT.
End scene.
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