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turning to page one
turning to page one
The Colonel drives, staring darkly at the road ahead. In the passenger seat, Ricky is using a CALCULATOR and jotting numbers down in a NOTEBOOK.
COLONEL
How come these faggots always have
to rub it in your face? How can
they be so shameless?
RICKY
That's the whole thing, Dad. They
don't feel like it's anything to be
ashamed of.
The Colonel looks at Ricky sharply.
COLONEL
Well, it is.
A beat, as Ricky continues his calculations, before he realizes a response is expected from him. Then:
RICKY
Yeah, you're right.
The Colonel's eyes flash angrily.
COLONEL
Don't placate me like I'm your
mother, boy.
Ricky sighs, then looks at his father.
RICKY
Forgive me, sir, for speaking so
bluntly, but those fags make me
want to puke my fucking guts out.
The Colonel is taken aback but quickly covers.
COLONEL
Me too, son. Me too.
Case closed, Ricky goes back to his calculations.
CLOSE on the pencil in his hands: He's totaling two columns of NUMBERS. Under the column "Income" he writes in swift, bold strokes: $24,950.00.