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Bagging groceries. CHILDREN underfoot. One points a toy gun at Red, pumping the trigger. Red focuses on the gun, listening to it CLICKETY-CLACK. Sparky wheel grinding. The kids get swept off by MOM. Red starts bagging the next customer. SLOW PUSH IN on Red. Surrounded by MOTION and NOISE. Feeling like the eye of a hurricane. People everywhere, whipping around him like a gale. Strange. Loud. Dizzying. It gets distorted and weird, slow and thick, pressing in on him from all sides. The noise level intensifies. The hollering of children deepens and distends into LOW EERIE HOWLS. He's in the grip of a major anxiety attack. Tries to shake himself out of it. Can't. Fumbles the final items into the bag. Walks away. Trying not to panic. Trying not to run. He makes his way through the store. Blinking sweat. He bumps into a lady's cart, mumbles an apology, keeps going. Breaks into a trot. Down the aisle, cut to the left, through the door into the back rooms, faster and faster, running now, slamming through a door marked "Employees Only" into --