Drastic chaos may overcome me.

Ang-zotic breath pounding. Wait.

Every time I hear that song "little boxes" it reminds me of my childhood home. It was one of those, pretty as a thing could be. Although the driveway was gravel back then, and these trees were like twigs. Every time I see Tom Hanks in "Big" or the opening of a movie on middle America, in the late 60s, I think "yeah, I know that place, I lived it".

This is me in that window with people I don't know. I still like the color red. It's so weird that so many movies portray these times. Everyone looked so ordinarily odd.

I remember waiting in that window, watching for my dad to come home. Elbows on the white window sill, my pinky fingers clinched between my teeth, the sensation of pain when I finally opened my mouth. My flattened finger nails. -- I would never do that now.

Summer days, doing silly things. I decided falling off a motor cycle is a stupid idea, only after it happened.

Maybe our mother dressed me in red so she could find me. I still like to stop and look at things... randomly.

Art directors take note, it's not just the cloths and hair snafu, it really was that washed-out color. Everything sweltered under the summer heat.

The Screenwriter’s Mantra…

Write ONLY What you SEE AND [OR] HEAR [on film] Right NOW, - Blow by Blow - as it happens, in the present. Anything else is filler-fluff meant for prose, poetry or novels. Think SCANT, but MEANINGFUL “with Economy” when you write. Print this out and plaster it to anything and everything near your writing space. This is not about you, it's about the story you are telling with sounds and images! That's it.