ext. university parking lot – late afternoon
the sun has gone to bed early as the heavens playfully throw dark cotton balls across the sky. the wind, like listerine unhinging food particles lodged between teeth, is unhinging and flinging debris across the parking lot.
woman, 43, is walking towards her car in a crowded hospital parking lot, her sari dancing the flamenco with the winds.
reveal: her face – deadpan. she is weightlifting two bags – one containing her personal effects and a green umbrella, the other, a laptop bag – incongruous to her slight frame. she smiles. the heavens respond with a deep rumble that matches her hurried steps – and the heavens open up. she removes the green umbrella from her bag, clicks it open and her face breaks again into a smile.
so i can’t even think the word?
int. woman’s home – an hour later
subtle lighting illuminates her cozy living room. pm dawn’s “i’ll die without you,” reminding the room of a presence not seen. a presence the walls have come to feel its presence through her smiles.
woman – warmly wrapped up, is sitting on the two-seater sofa – a mug in her hand, an open laptop on her laps, casting light on her face from an angelic dimension, a smug smile on her face matched by the gentle heavenly wet caresses on her roof.
gosh, i miss you …
her smile widens, and the heavens respond with an excited cascade on her roof. she sighs a soothed-soul sigh.
overhead back-shot on laptop – picking a poem on the screen, “fiction.
so take every little piece of my heart/yeah, take every little piece of my soul/yeah, take every little bot of piece of my mind …
cut to black.