Showdown at the Gower Gulch 

I owe a biker named MADD a cup of coffee and he’s not going to let me forget it.

And every time we meet there is some kind of weird standoff.

This was tonight’s.


INT. GOWER GULCH STARBUCKS -- NIGHT
It’s late. The easy sounds of steam and trickle as baristas make drinks, chat. Solo patrons kick back, skim laptop screens, sip coffee.

JESSICA at the pickup counter, waits for her hot chocolate. Straws... sugar... milk... She glances over the condiments stand—

Notices she's standing in a SHADOW:

A large, Michael Clarke Duncan-esque figure, MADD, stirs his coffee to her right, blocks the light. She turns her attention back to unwrapping her pink and red Valentine's Day cookie, minds her own business.

Silence, and then,

MADD (O.S.): Well I'll be... Wyatt Earp.
Tension as their eyes meet.
JESSICA: Hello, Madd.
MADD: Got here before you tonight.
JESSICA: Got to get here after me if you want that free cup of coffee.
MADD: You've got more excuses than a person who's about to be arrested.
He looks Jessica up and down; she's dressed in sweats.
MADD: You slummin' tonight?
JESSICA: Yeah, I am.
MADD: Ain't nothing wrong with that.
He buttons his slick, black overcoat, leaves—
JESSICA: No,
He pauses, looks over his shoulder. Jessica grits her teeth.
JESSICA: There isn't.
Madd makes no sign that he's heard her, continues on.


That is a true story. I swear.

PS: Sarsaparilla

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