Writing

INT. COZY RESTAURANT - NIGHT #1#

JACKSON John Jones (32, average Australian guy) sits in a small, trendy restaurant by himself. A fierce storm rages outside, the occasional flash of lightning brightening the room, but otherwise the restaurant is warm and cozy.

Jackson waits, looking out the window into the stormy night, checking his phone for messages, checking his calendar to make sure he is in the right place. Checking his watch, waiting for someone. He has been stood up. Again.

Unemployed. Again.

Joe burst out of the building, into the small dark lane, the sun not yet high enough to pierce the deep gullies between the office buildings. His scuffed black leather boots, the closest thing he had to business shoes, slapped loudly on the cobbled lane way. One, two, three steps, his legs unsteady, he stopped. He needed to get away from here, but his legs would not work. He steadied himself, resting his left hand on the grimy red brick wall.

“Worst. Date. Ever.” The voice sobbed at him through the phone.

Ethan sat naked on his bed in the dark room rubbing one side of his head with one hand and holding his old iPhone to the other side of his head with the other hand. Stupid. Should not have answered the phone. Very stupid.

“Trace, its two in the morning, can’t this wait?” More stupid, should not have asked a question.