FADE IN:

EXT. MORNING METROPOLITAN SKY

A cool wind smooths the morning haze. Distant sirens come closer. As the camera pulls back, we see that the burning building is mostly hidden by dense, Los Angeles traffic that causes more turmoil than the buzzing emergency vehicles arriving on the scene. We’re watching from across the street. The sound of a steaming air comes to a sizzling stop at about the same time as the tappity-tap of the fingers on the laptop of THE MEDIA GUY. The camera continues to PULL BACK INTO —

INT. LOS ANGELES COFFEE SHOP – DAY

THE MEDIA GUY, dressed in jeans, black shirt and sports coat, is sitting at a small round table of a trendy little Encino coffee shop to the right of a twenty-something barista. THE MEDIA GUY sips his latte as he continues to tap out the words of a burgeoning screenplay. The shape of a young woman, ELIZA, flashes by the counter, checking her smartphone.

ELIZA

My God, it’s hot. I stepped out of line and it stared sweating again. It’s still burning? Jesus, it’s bigger! And I thought you were the cause of those sirens.

(she giggles)

What is it?

THE MEDIA GUY

(interrupting)

Order your coffee ‘extra hot’ again Eliza? That’s hot talk.

ELIZA

Michael, what are you doing here?

(she giggles again)

What you must think! I was talking about the fire.

THE MEDIA GUY

Miller & Miller Advertising. My dad used to work there thirty-two years ago. Now somebody’s torched it to get some revenge. Los Angeles is getting meaner by the day.

ELIZA

That’s a disgrace.

THE MEDIA GUY

Their clients will be up for grabs.

ELIZA

Is this your new office?

THE MEDIA GUY

(still tapping out the words)

I’m writing the great American screenplay. Are you still subbing those marauding second graders at snooty elementary prep school?

ELIZA

Save your humor for your screenplay. An autobiography?

THE MEDIA GUY

It’s a drama. You know how I love drama.

ELIZA

Don’t you think writing your screenplay at a strip mall coffee house franchise is a little trite?

THE MEDIA GUY

Of the many disciplines a screenwriter must master, chief among them is looking pensive, building up a tolerance for copious amounts of coffee, and not having a day job — or vacation time.

ELIZA

Which one is it for you?

THE MEDIA GUY

A much needed vacation from the media racket. Six months of used car commercial shots will burn anyone out.

ELIZA

Doesn’t everyone in L.A. write their Great American screenplay at a coffee shop?

THE MEDIA GUY

Scientific reports show that about 77.25% of the population of in the city of Los Angeles consider themselves screenwriters. However, my research reveals that only .05% of these people are actually in the process of writing a script. So, you could be right.

ELIZA

I get into school at 8 a.m. I wouldn’t mind having a coffee later and hearing about the media game…

(beat)

Oh, what do you care? You’re writing. You’re done with human contact. I’m just the customer of the minute to inspire greatness.

(trying for a straight face)

I’ll just slip into my coffee here and slip away.

There’s a smile on her lips as she takes her drink up, watching THE MEDIA GUY fervently attack the keyboard.

THE MEDIA GUY

My keyboard is scorching and my history’s burning up out here.

ELIZA

Hey, I don’t mind. I’m leaving.

(beat)

Why do they make these damn lattes so hot?

THE MEDIA GUY

Heat is a matter of mind. Just like writing genius. The distance any of us non-traditional writers make in the sanctity of the coffee house is frustrating, but also valuable. There’s an option to retreat from the noise–or, okay, the music–that I don’t think a writer in, say, West Hollywood has. This distance has benefited me for the last two weeks, as I write and write, without looking up, or around.

ELIZA

Hey… hey…

(giggling again)

… let me read what you have.

THE MEDIA GUY

You’ll be late for the kids at Lenny Bruce Elementary. I’ll be here after school. Maybe I’ll let you read the character arcs in the middle. Or, Maybe I’ll let you read act two.

The camera cranes out over the cars, morning ambiance and the noise of the street. Then it arcs over the palm trees, across the rooftops, to the flames as a bit a history scorches closer to the ground.