Being Flynn Page #3

There were

the religious types.

I want to live my life

the way Christ does.

Also, I hate

my rich parents.

Hey, guys, can you

bring those over here?

There were the punks.

Check in, sir, and we are

gonna get you to the clinic.

This place is hardcore.

Plus, the pay is

not bad. Next.

There were the ex-cons.

All right, next. So this dude

was gonna shoot me, right?

So, I turned sideways,

'cause that is what you do.

You turn sideways,

you take it in the arm.

I flex my bicep,

I take the bullet.

And then I grabbed the gun from this

guy, and I'm like bam-bam-bam-bam.

Right in his f***ing head, then

it's like click-click-click.

Let me tell you, I had to

disappear for a while after that.

All right, put

your arms up.

Joy was an ex-cokehead

and a prostitute.

JOY:
There you go, honey.

Now, she's like

a mother to the guys.

Unfortunately,

in a couple of years,

she will be sitting in a room

with a shotgun across her lap,

back to dealing and

smoking crack 24/7.

It's hard to stay changed.

I start out working inside the

cage handing out bed tickets,

collecting people's valuables

and locking them up overnight.

It's Friday, payday. A lot

of the guests have jobs.

There is more money to

slip into the envelopes.

Let's go.

Hey!

The air is thick,

stale, smells like sweat.

Back off.

Friday, the drunks

are more boisterous.

MAN 1:
Move up, old man! MAN 2: Why

you always got to be touching me?

Because you are standing

still, that's why.

Every single day, I get in line,

and you're right up my ass.

(ARGUING INDISTINCTLY)

Maybe I should help.

Yeah, maybe not.

Not yet.

(CONTINUES ARGUING)

There is a balance between

escalating and defusing.

Knowing when to step in,

and when to back off.

Hey, buddy,

calm down!

Oh, sh*t.

I don't know

that balance yet.

Well? Are you able to

locate your feelings now?

Yeah, this f***ing hurts.

You are going to

have a good shiner.

You didn't tell me this

place was such a rush.

It's addictive. Watch out,

or you will never leave.

So, how many of these people

get back on their feet?

I couldn't tell you.

But what I do know

is a year from now,

through here will be dead.

We catch them on the way down.

Next stop, the morgue.

(DOORBELL RINGS)

(CHUCKLING)

Hey. Steady Ray, as ever.

Jonathan, how are you?

So, I thought I might

stay over tonight.

I find myself

momentarily between places.

The thing is, Claire's mom is here.

She's staying with us.

That is okay.

I'll sleep on the couch.

No, that is where

she's staying.

We are renovating

the guest room.

Tell her to get the f*** off

and let me sleep with her.

Is she nice?

Yeah. You met her?

(SINGING)

Mother-in-law, mother-in-law

Mother-in-law

Hey, honey!

Shh.

I mean, this wasn't

because of the old

burning-of-the-Christmas-tree

thing, was it?

No. That's ancient history.

Exactly, because it was really funny.

You got to admit, it was.

Yeah. That was

a lot of fun.

Sure, all right. Well, okay,

give Claire de Lune my love.

And I'm going to try Dugan.

He is always begging

me to come over

and provide some

free entertainment for

him and his

miserable missus.

Dugan moved to Florida.

He did? Moved to Florida?

Why the hell would he do that?

I don't know,

the weather.

Oh, the weather.

Okay, looks like I'm going to

head to my suite at the Ritz.

I'm sorry.

Okay, Ray.

Good night.

All right. Good night.

Take care. Give the

lovely missus my love.

Don't forget to write.

Yeah, I'll write.

In jail.

(CHUCKLES)

CLAIRE:
Ray?

I'm coming.

JONATHAN:
For the next few

weeks I lived out of my cab.

Renting it 24 hours a day,

seven days a week.

It's a wonderful life.

You sh*t at

the bus station,

you shower at the Y.

But it's not all

fun and games.

Cabbies get shot in

the head every night.

Bamo! Right in the jugular.

Right in the f***ing jugular.

I'll ram it down their throat and

rip their insides right out.

Hurry up!

(THUDDING)

(SIREN BLARING)

The police said I hit someone,

or some f***ing thing.

What can I say to that?

Now, I have no license,

no cab, no place to sleep.

Perhaps I'll start a new book,

Memoirs of a Moron!

Memoirs of a f***ing moron.

Memoirs of a f***ing moron.

NICK:
After the cage,

I work housing.

It's more intense. You are not

protected behind steel mesh.

Okay, grab a cup,

have a good shower.

Hey, I'll meet you in the

hot room in 10 minutes.

Okay. If I'm

not there,

just take your clothes off

and start without me.

Okay.

The hot room smells of superheated

sweat, quick fermented.

Excuse me.

I need a new

pair of pants.

No problem.

I'll be right back.

Hey, how do I know

what size he wears?

You ask him.

At Harbor Street you write up

every day's events in the log,

and you read off

your entry that night.

He's not gonna bite.

I take that opportunity

to practice.

"9:
10, Isaac Clegg fell out of

bed, and the bed fell on him.

"The skin of a drunk

splits open easily,

"their blood flows more freely,

thinned out by the booze.

"The nurse is

gone for the evening

"and Isaac is loath

to go to the hospital.

"I make an attempt

to bandage him. "

I'm just gonna wrap this around you.

You okay?

"9:
30, I was able

to convince George D.

"to sit still for his

monthly de-lousing."

My beloved family, they beheaded

me, their beloved Queen.

I loved them.

They were my friends.

"Lice thrive so well

on George's body

"that they can be seen crawling

over him at 20 paces."

I would never hurt them.

I would never kill them.

Hey, it's okay, man.

I understand, George.

But, I mean, they beheaded

you, didn't they? So why not?

This is the right

decision, George.

"Nothing in the shelter makes

me understand my purpose more

"than to kill bugs off of

a homeless man's flesh..."

Okay. All right.

Let's get you cleaned up.

"...to dress him well in

donated, cast-off clothes,

"and to see him the next day

laughing beside a burning barrel."

Okay, Nick.

Very expressive.

I like the stuff about Isaac being

loath to go to the hospital.

Thank you.

How about we let the next

person read their entry?

"10:
00 p.m., fight broke

out in reading area.

"10:
30, Wally G. Caught

smoking in bed."

Which I confiscated,

by the way.

Lucky number 41.

Hey, what are you

up to after work?

Nothing.

Thank you.

I thought we

were just friends.

DENISE:
Shut up.

What's all this?

Just old letters.

Is this from

your father?

He was in jail?

He passed forged checks

in between writing

the great American novel.

Nice.

Are these all

from your dad?

Yeah.

There's like a hundred

letters in here.

This yours?

Don't read that.

"Loaded, I say.

"Wasted, looped, lit, off my

ass, befuddled, reeling, tanked,

"punch-drunk, mean drunk,

maintenance drunk,

"sloppy drunk, happy drunk, weepy

drunk, blind drunk, dead drunk,

"serious drinker,

hard drinker."

What is this?

Nothing. Some poetry. It's sh*t.

"Polluted, blitzed,

shattered, zonked,

"ossified, annihilated,

fossilized,

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