opening scene for a movie I've been commissioned to write for a Hollywood bigwig

Interior shot. We are immediately in a living room in what is a two-family home converted into apartments. The architecture is Victorian. Dark wood paneling, high ceilings, interesting fixtures. The decor, on the other hand, is contemporary shabby. The place is fallling apart, paint chipping, etc, but it is decorated sparsely. There is an oriental rug, a wooden square table littered with a few coffee cups and magazines and books. A tv with rabbit airs is in the corner, forgotten. Two pieces of art are on the walls. Both orginal, one resembles slightly the work of Miro. The other of Joseph Cornell.

But we are focused on the couch which is held in the center of the camera. It is pushed up against the farthest wall, in between two windows with dusty Venetian blinds obscuring what is obviously a bright day. On the couch sits a man in jeans, and an orange tee shirt. He is thin, and he sits on the far end of his couch complicating the otherwise nicely centered shot. He is resting his arm on the couch's same. His legs are crossed in the European style, and he is reading a book, slightly hunched over, holding the book out towards the blinds and the diffuse sunlight. He is balding. This much we can see. And he's bespeckled. We wouldn't be surprised if he is going gray. His socks are white, and of the tube variety.

It is Tuesday, 3:13 in the afternoon. He hasn't anywhere to go. And this apartment, inadequately described, is in Albany, New York. The capital of that State, once upon a time known as Fort Orange.

His buzzer buzzes.

He looks up, distractedly. He noisily pulls aside the blinds without pulling them up and cranes to see outside. He sighs. Puts his book on the couch, and begins to shuffle towards his door.

The buzzer buzzes once again.

He sighs, opens his door, and heads down the flight of stairs to the front door. He opens the door, the camera over his shoulder, and we see a young woman, dark hair pulled back into a pony tail, with a wisp curled around her attractive features. She is dressed in dark clothing and has a shoulder bag.

"Hey, I just got into a big fight with my parents about coming here. I can't believe it. It's so stupid, but they are really angry with me and...can I come in?"

She looks at him expectantly. She has an honest face.

He assents perhaps a bit too brightly, breaking an octave, "Yes, yes, of course." And he looks at her as she pushes through and gets to the base of the stairs.

"Upstairs? Or here?"

"Upstairs," he says slowly.

"I'm the girl from the train," she says slightly mockingly. "Remember?"

He shuts the front door. She begins to walk up the stairs and he follows.

"Of course I remember you. But, what are you doing here...now? I thought we were going to get together sometime over the weekend...or, like, at some other time...Anyways..." he adds, slightly mockingly, matching her tone, "how did you find out where I live?"

She looks over her shoulder, "the internet."

"The internet!" he says in exasperation.

They get to the landing and he opens his door into his apartment. She walks in and looks around.

"Wow, it's kind of ghetto here."

"Yeah well, I wasn't expecting anyone, least of all you."

"Yeah, but still, I mean you just don't de-ghettoize this place."

He stops. "Listen, seriously why are you here? I mean let me be blunt. It was good to meet you on the train, and I was looking forward to perhaps going out with you..."

"Perhaps?" she interrupts.

"Yeah, well, I'm 36. I don't know how old you are, but that's older. And I'm unemployed, I don't know how employed you are, but I'm probably more 'un', and have been for longer. I think there are other parts of my life that need to take priority..."

She interrupts and places her hand on his arm.

"I'm 22. And I'm in a shitload of trouble."

Cue Music and title screen