FADE IN:
INT. MASTER BEDROOM – 06:59 AM.
Light creeps into a dark, gloomy room. The silence is deafening in the cramped, unkempt room. Clothes are strewn carelessly across the floor, documents litter the carpet, mugs and plates occupy the bedside table.
CLIVE MORGAN, a gaunt, haggard young man, lies awake in bed. His girlfriend lies next to him, the covers drawn up around her face protectively. The digital clock on the bedside suddenly BLARES. CLIVE, still staring, hits the alarm with his fist.
TRACEY
Fucking hell, Clive.
CLIVE
[impatient]
What?
TRACEY
Do you have to hit the
fucking alarm like that?
CLIVE gets out of bed irritably, picking a shirt up off the floor.
CLIVE
Oh I’m sorry, I’ll just let
it run and not go to work,
shall I?
TRACEY
Fuck off. You’re so fucking
useless.
TRACEY rolls back over. CLIVE leaves the room.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment