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turning to page one
1958. It has come on to rain. MICHAEL is walking along the street, looking more and more sickly. There is an archway leading to a courtyard, and impulsively he darts inside to get out of the rain. He begins to vomit. Opposite him is a wood workshop open to the yard. A uniformed TRAM CONDUCTRESS walks past.
MICHAEL’S body is turned away, his face invisible, his hand over his mouth. She puts down her ticket machine on the pavement and seizes him by the arm.
HANNA
Hey. Hey!
HANNA SCHMITZ has ash-blonde hair and is in her mid-thirties. She disappears. He’s sick again. She reappears with a bucket of water to sluice down the pavement. She wipes his face down with a wet cloth. Then she fills another bucket.
HANNA
Hey, kid. Hey.
MICHAEL
I’m sorry. I’m sorry.
Effortlessly, HANNA takes MICHAEL in her arms. She holds his head against her breasts. MICHAEL buries himself and slowly he stops sobbing. Then he lifts his head.
HANNA
Where do you live?