Waking life script 13

(A boy and girl are sitting in a coffee shop, possibly at a bookstore like Borders or Barnes & Noble, or more likely a bar. Alex Nixon and Violet Nichols, respectively.)

What are you writing?

A novel.

What's the story?

There's no story. It's just ... people, gestures, moments, bits of rapture, fleeting emotions. In short, the greatest stories ever told.

Are you in the story?

I don't think so. But then, I'm kind of reading it and then writing it.

***

(A guy in a bar, actor Steven Prince, talking with a bartender, Ken Webster.)

It was in the middle of the desert, in the middle of nowhere, but on the way to Vegas, so, you know, every once in a while a car would pull in, get gas. It was the last gas stop before Vegas. Office had the chair, had a cash register, and that was all the room there was in that office. I was asleep, and I heard a noise. You know, just like in my mind. So I got up, and I walked out, and I stood on the curb of where the gas station ends, you know, the driveway there. I'm rubbing the sand out of my eyes, trying to see what's going on, and way down at the very end of the gas station they had tire racks. Chains around them, you know. And I see there's an Econoline van down there. And there's a guy with his T-shirt off, and he's packing his Econoline van with all these tires. He's got the last two tires in his hands, pushes them into the thing, and then I, of course, I go, "Hey, you!" This guy turns around, he's got no shirt on, he's sweating, he's built like a brick shithouse, pulls out a knife, it's 12 inches long, and then starts running at me as fast as he can, going AAAAAAAHHHHH. I'm still ... "This is wrong." I walked in, stuck my hand behind the cash register where the owner kept a .41 revolver, pull it out, cocked the trigger, and just as I turned around, he was comin' through the door. And I could see his eyes. I'll never forget this guy's eyes. And he just had bad thoughts about me in his eyes. And I fired a round, and it hit him. Boom. Right in the chest. Bang. He went - as fast as he was coming in the door, he went out the door. Went right up between the two pumps, ethyl and regular. And he must've been on drugs, on speed or something, you know, because he stood up and he still had the knife, and the blood was just all over his chest, and he stood up and he went like that, just moved a little like that. And I was pretty much in shock, so I just held the trigger back and fanned the hammer. It's one of these old-time ... Poom, Poom, Poom, Poom, Poom! And I blew him out of the gas station. And ever since then, I always carry this.

(He pulls out a revolver.)

I hear that. A well-armed populace is the best defense against tyranny.

I'll drink to that. And you know, I haven't fired this for such a long time, I don't even know if it'll work.

Why don't you pull the trigger and find out?

(He shoots the bartender in the chest. The bartender gets up, grabs the gun hidden behind the counter, and shoots the other guy in the head. Both fall dead. Puddles of blood form and red flows down the screen.)