Fight Club Page #11

JACK (V.O.)

Neither would have surprised me.

INT. SHOWER - MORNING

Jack turns on the water. LOUD VIBRATIONS from the walls.

Water spits in starts.

JACK (V.O.)

Nothing worked. The rusty plumbing

leaked. Turning on a light meant

another light in the house went out.

EXT. LOU'S TAVERN PARKING LOT - NIGHT

All the tavern's lights are off. Tyler and Jack FIGHT.

FIVE GUYS stand around watching.

INT. PAPER ST. HOUSE - KITCHEN - MORNING

Jack, his face showing NEW BRUISES AND CUTS, makes coffee

with a wire-mesh strainer. Tyler shuffles in, wearing a

flannel bathrobe. He spears pieces of bread on a fork,

starts roasting them over a burner.

JACK (V.O.)

There were no neighbors. Just

warehouses and the paper mill. The

fart smell of steam, the hamster cage

smell of wood chips.

EXT. PAPER ST. HOUSE - NIGHT

Jack sits watching as Tyler SWINGS an old GOLF CLUB --

THWACK -- sends a golf ball soaring down the desolate street.

JACK (V.O.)

At night, Tyler and I were alone for

half a mile in every direction.

EXT. LOU'S TAVERN PARKING LOT - NIGHT

All the lights are off. TEN GUYS YELL, standing around Jack

and Tyler, who FIGHT. THREE CARS are parked in the lot.

INT. BASEMENT - DAY

Jack sits on basement stairs, watching as Tyler, knee-deep

in water, works at an open FUSEBOX, flipping breakers in a

certain order, showing Jack how it's done.

JACK (V.O.)

When it rained, we had to kill the

power. By the end of the first

month, I didn't care about TV. I

didn't mind the warm, stale

refrigerator.

INT. READING ROOM - NIGHT

CANDLES BURN. Tyler and Jack are seated across from each

other on the buckled floor, reading MAGAZINES. Rain DRIPS

from the ceiling. No furniture. THOUSANDS of MAGAZINES.

JACK (V.O.)

The previous occupant had been a bit

of a shut-in.

TYLER:

(of magazine)

Hum.

JACK:

What?

TYLER:

Oh, a new riot control grenade...

(reading)

"...the successful combination of

concussive, 3000 foot-candle flash-

blasts and simultaneous high-velocity

disbursement of...blah, blah, blah..."

Tyler begins RIPPING the ARTICLE from his magazine.

JACK:

("Reader's Digest")

"I am Joe's Lungs." It's written in

first person. "Without me, Joe could

not take in oxygen to feed his red

blood cells." There's a whole

series -- "I am Joe's Prostate."

TYLER:

"I get cancer, and I kill Joe."

Tyler tosses his article in a pile of other articles,

chooses another magazine.

JACK:

What are you reading?

TYLER:

Soldier of Fortune. Business Week.

New Republic.

JACK:

Show-off.

EXT. LOU'S TAVERN PARKING LOT - NIGHT

All the lights are off. Jack and Tyler stand amidst FIFTEEN

GUYS around TWO GUYS FIGHTING. The crowd YELLS MORE WILDLY

than before. In the background are EIGHT PARKED CARS.

JACK (V.O.)

I should have been haggling with my

insurance company. I should have

been looking for a new condo...

EXT. STREET - NIGHT

Jack walks along. He stops, looking at a CHURCH with

SUPPORT-GROUP-PEOPLE milling around the entrance, drinking

coffee and sodas. Marla's there, amongst them, smoking.

JACK (V.O.)

.... I should have been upset about

my nice, neat, flaming little sh*t.

Jack's face shows no reaction. He continues to walk.

JACK (V.O.)

But I wasn't.

INT. KITCHEN - MORNING

Jack, in work clothes, interlocks his fingers and POPS his

knuckles, picks up a saucepan with coffee and sips. Tyler,

in waiter's uniform, comes to have Jack straighten his tie.

JACK (V.O.)

Most of the week, we were Ozzie and

Harriet.

Jack picks up his briefcase and walks out the door.

JACK (V.O.)

But, Wednesday night, ever Wednesday

night...

EXT. LOU'S TAVERN PARKING LOT - NIGHT

All the lights are off. No one around, but there are at

least TWENTY-FIVE CARS parked in the full lot.

JACK (V.O.)

... we were finding something out: we

were finding out, more and more, that

we were not alone.

INT. CONFERENCE ROOM - DAY

A SLIDE SHOW progresses, run by a chipper salesman, WALTER.

Jack sits, deadpan, with a PUFFY LIP and a BRUISED cheek.

JACK (V.O.)

Thursday mornings, all I could do was

think about next week.

Boss gives Jack a dubious look. Walter's next SLIDE: a

COMPUTER SCREEN.

WALTER:

The basic premise of cyber-netting

your office is -- make things more

efficient.

BOSS:

Can I get the icon in cornflower blue?

WALTER:

Absolutely.

Walter continues, his sales pitch drowned out by Jack's V.O.:

JACK (V.O.)

Walter, the Microsoft account exec.

Walter, with his smooth, soft hands.

Maybe he was thinking about the free-

range potluck he'd been to last

weekend, or his church-group car-wash

fund-raiser. Or, probably not.

Walter moves to Jack and slaps him in the shoulder.

WALTER:

I showed this already to my man here.

You liked it, didn't you?

Jack smiles. His teeth are RED with BLOOD. They GLOW

eerily in the dim light.

JACK (V.O.)

You can swallow a pint of blood

before you get sick.

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