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turning to page one
turning to page one
Convicts hoe the fields. Guards patrol on horseback.
RED (V.O.)
...and when they fly away, the part
of you that knows it was a sin to
lock them up does rejoice...but
still, the place you live is that
much more drab and empty that
they're gone.
A DISTANT RUMBLE OF THUNDER. Red pauses, gazes off. Storm clouds coming in, backlit by the sun. A light drizzle begins.
RED (V.O.) (CONT'D)
I guess I just miss my friend.