(Just the beginning of something. I haven’t decided if this is a piece of a script or just some nonsense that I won’t look at again for another 6 months. I needed to get something on digital paper.)
Joe walked onto the elevator. It was that same, drab brown half-paneled/half-carpeted box that he entered at bare minimum twice a day.
A: “You ever think why Millennial guys are so obsessed with mustaches?”
A: “I think it may have something to do with so many of being raised by their grandparents while their fucked up parents delayed maturity all the way through their 20s and 30s.”
(pause. drama mask expression response)
A: “You know it probably isn’t too far from the truth. And I’m not generalizing for all their parents because to every true trendsetter there are probably something like 50,000+ followers that take any new identity that can mask the real them. I’m talking about guys like me. The REAL fuckups. Or former REAL fuckups.
(pause. elevator stops)
Joe looked at the frame. This week’s building announcement was touting free tickets to ______ as one of the big drawing prizes at this month’s resident mixer.
A: “I thought they fixed this son of a bitch!
(To be continued….)