Post by MW on Jan 6, 2024 20:28:21 GMT -5
We’re outside in the cold. A local tarmac. A small plane awaits. Marcus Welsh and Adi Gold hold each other, staring into one another’s eyes.
“I just feel like if that plane leaves the ground and you’re not with me I’m going to regret it. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But someday.”
“Shh. I need you to get on that plane and head back to Key West, Take your place for the Trials. I need you to win one. Win one for the Goldster.”
“I guess we’ll always have McDonald’s.”
The two nod and hug. Welsh turns and heads through the fog to board the waiting plane. Adi is urged to move forward.
“Marcus!”
Welsh stops and turns.
“Rosebud.” She calls out.
Welsh fights back emotion and responds, “You had me at my name.” He blows her a kiss. She tries to catch it but drops the kiss and fumbles around the ground until she picks it up. Once she does, she presses it against her heart. Welsh steps into the plane and the door is shut and locked behind him.
—
Key West International Airport
It’s late. Marcus Welsh exits sporting casual attire and, most importantly, a smile. He’s a new man! Ready to conquer the world!
“Time to return to the world that I’ve created. The world that needs me. Time to finish what I started.” Phone in hand, he pulls up the Uber app. He looks for a ride…looking…looking. “Must be a busy night.” Looking…looking.
Welsh pulls up the map and sees several drivers in the area, “Must’ve landed after a big flight.” Looking…looking. He sees people he doesn’t recognize getting into Ubers. He sees people on his flight getting into Ubers.
“Hmm,” he tries again. There’s an Uber driver across the way. He looks down at his app and then over at Welsh. Welsh looks at him…eye contact. The man spits and hits ‘decline.’ Welsh rears back. A homeless man knocks on the driver’s window and is able to get a ride.
“Okay, that’s just ridiculous. What’s going…” he pulls up his profile, “ONE STAR?!”
—
“Get Low” by Lil Jon & The East Side Boyz slams our auditory canals as we cut to right outside Marcus Welsh’s home. The door is open and people are partying.
“Hey, Leo!!!”
“It’s THE Leo!” Leo yells back, spinning around. He’s in a gold, silk robe with a pair of futuristic shades over his eyes. He’s got a ridiculously large watch on his wrist. A giant phone to his ear and a $12,000 glass of champagne in his hand.
“Sorry! The Uber Driver wants a five star rating!”
“Oh?” Leo looks at the nice, innocent Uber driver that just dropped his friend off. “How about he gets five sets of DEEZ NUTS!”
Leo whistles. Five guys run out of the house toward the car. They tear their pants off and rub their nuts all over the car windows. The uber driver freaks out and hits the gas. The car swerves and crashes right into a hydrant. Water shoots into the air.
“That’s right!” Leo yells. The people in the yard respond, cheering. All the partiers inside go wild. Leo stomps on the ground. The crowd follows suit, providing a fairly loud rumble. Leo follows that up by performing his famous ‘disco duck’ dance.
It’s rowdy. ROWDY.
A yellow cab pulls up. The brakes screech to the point a bunch of cats hiss and run away. The back door opens and a cloud of weird smoke pushes its way out and up into the night sky. Welsh emerges, a look of disgust on his face.
“Oh and sorry about that giant pile of elephant shit in the back. No idea how that got there.”
Welsh shuts the door and turns to his home. “Finally, it’s great to be…” the party, noise, debauchery, chaos catch him off guard. “What the…”
He steps through the destroyed gate of his white picket fence. He gasps, dropping to one knee, “My petunias!” His lovely petunias, trampled beyond recognition. Snaring a handful, he takes one last whiff. Back on his feet, he staggers toward the front door. Party goers bumping into him, spilling libatious liquid all over his ‘TRIAD’ t-shirt. Welsh is too stunned to react.
“Huh? My screen door imported from France and manufactured nearly five hundred years ago?” The screen door is destroyed. “The screen…a former net the great Earnest Hemingway used as protection over his tent when he slept on the plains of Africa during one of his legendary hunts.”
Yes, the screen. Ripped up.
Dazed, Welsh stumbles into the house. It resembles a fraternity house, only less clean and organized. His eyes bulge, he rushes over to a birdcage, “My pet magpie Charlie?!”
Charlie the Magpie is laid out. On his side, one wing draped over his body. He catches sight of Welsh’s shiny watch and slowly lifts his wing towards it, one eye opening, “Mar…” he then expires, his bird body going limp.
The vein in Welsh’s forehead steps forward. He slowly rises. The hue in his face reddening. “Alright…THAT’S IT!!!”
He slings his miniature portmanteau down onto the floor with a loud boom. His scream has a bit of an off pitched tone, a break in his voice. He turns, ready to kill.
The music stops. Everyone looks.
Slowly, Leo emerges from the crowd.
“What the FUCK? What is this?” Welsh steps up.
Leo lowers his head.
“Look at me!” Welsh lifts Leo's head and removes the futuristic shades. “What have you done with my place? My petunias? My screen door?” Welsh pauses, fighting off emotion, “My pet magpie Charlie!”
Leo’s eyes flutter.
“Get out of my sight. And take these idiots with you.”
Welsh turns his back to grab his portmanteau. A few party goers get up in Leo’s ear.
“You gonna let him talk to you like that?”
“The fuck he think he is?”
“You won the Trials. He bitched out.”
“Be the man, Leo!”
“We got your fuckin back, bro.”
“My nuts are ready.”
The music tries to start back up. But it skips. It’s hung up. Skips. Same beat over and over and over and over and over. Leo raises his head. Welsh turns around. He feels the tension thickening. Leo’s standing up. Leo’s staring back.
“What?” Welsh asks, ninety percent sure he’s still got the upper hand.
Leo snatches his shades back and puts them on, “Who do you think YOU are?”
“Excuse me?” Welsh's tone shakes, just a bit.
The crowd forms around Leo.
“You fuck up, run off, and then just expect to talk to me like that…after I carried the team to victory?”
“Oh come on, let’s remain in reality…”
Leo slaps Welsh across the face. The momentum in the crowd rises.
Welsh grabs his face, “Leo.”
“You’re fuckin weak! WEAK”
“I…I…”
Leo slaps him again. “Weak!” He slaps him a third time. “WEAK”
Welsh staggers against the wall. Leo steps up to him. Welsh flinches, his body folding inward.
“Yea, that’s what I fuckin thought, bitch. Now, get the fuck out of MY house!”
“LEO! LEO! LEO!” the party goers chant.
Welsh, avoiding eye contact, stumbles forward, trying to get through the crowd. People push him, pour drinks on him, laugh at him. He hurries through the front door, tripping over his broken screen door and falling hard onto the pavement.
Everyone points at the fallen TRIAD co-owner, laughing. Welsh rolls around, his palms bleeding. Leo stands over him, “This is my house now. My team. My time.”
“FUCK YEA, LEO!”
The pitiful Marcus Welsh drags his sorry ass off the pavement and hurries away, head down.
“I just feel like if that plane leaves the ground and you’re not with me I’m going to regret it. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But someday.”
“Shh. I need you to get on that plane and head back to Key West, Take your place for the Trials. I need you to win one. Win one for the Goldster.”
“I guess we’ll always have McDonald’s.”
The two nod and hug. Welsh turns and heads through the fog to board the waiting plane. Adi is urged to move forward.
“Marcus!”
Welsh stops and turns.
“Rosebud.” She calls out.
Welsh fights back emotion and responds, “You had me at my name.” He blows her a kiss. She tries to catch it but drops the kiss and fumbles around the ground until she picks it up. Once she does, she presses it against her heart. Welsh steps into the plane and the door is shut and locked behind him.
—
Key West International Airport
It’s late. Marcus Welsh exits sporting casual attire and, most importantly, a smile. He’s a new man! Ready to conquer the world!
“Time to return to the world that I’ve created. The world that needs me. Time to finish what I started.” Phone in hand, he pulls up the Uber app. He looks for a ride…looking…looking. “Must be a busy night.” Looking…looking.
Welsh pulls up the map and sees several drivers in the area, “Must’ve landed after a big flight.” Looking…looking. He sees people he doesn’t recognize getting into Ubers. He sees people on his flight getting into Ubers.
“Hmm,” he tries again. There’s an Uber driver across the way. He looks down at his app and then over at Welsh. Welsh looks at him…eye contact. The man spits and hits ‘decline.’ Welsh rears back. A homeless man knocks on the driver’s window and is able to get a ride.
“Okay, that’s just ridiculous. What’s going…” he pulls up his profile, “ONE STAR?!”
—
“Get Low” by Lil Jon & The East Side Boyz slams our auditory canals as we cut to right outside Marcus Welsh’s home. The door is open and people are partying.
“Hey, Leo!!!”
“It’s THE Leo!” Leo yells back, spinning around. He’s in a gold, silk robe with a pair of futuristic shades over his eyes. He’s got a ridiculously large watch on his wrist. A giant phone to his ear and a $12,000 glass of champagne in his hand.
“Sorry! The Uber Driver wants a five star rating!”
“Oh?” Leo looks at the nice, innocent Uber driver that just dropped his friend off. “How about he gets five sets of DEEZ NUTS!”
Leo whistles. Five guys run out of the house toward the car. They tear their pants off and rub their nuts all over the car windows. The uber driver freaks out and hits the gas. The car swerves and crashes right into a hydrant. Water shoots into the air.
“That’s right!” Leo yells. The people in the yard respond, cheering. All the partiers inside go wild. Leo stomps on the ground. The crowd follows suit, providing a fairly loud rumble. Leo follows that up by performing his famous ‘disco duck’ dance.
It’s rowdy. ROWDY.
A yellow cab pulls up. The brakes screech to the point a bunch of cats hiss and run away. The back door opens and a cloud of weird smoke pushes its way out and up into the night sky. Welsh emerges, a look of disgust on his face.
“Oh and sorry about that giant pile of elephant shit in the back. No idea how that got there.”
Welsh shuts the door and turns to his home. “Finally, it’s great to be…” the party, noise, debauchery, chaos catch him off guard. “What the…”
He steps through the destroyed gate of his white picket fence. He gasps, dropping to one knee, “My petunias!” His lovely petunias, trampled beyond recognition. Snaring a handful, he takes one last whiff. Back on his feet, he staggers toward the front door. Party goers bumping into him, spilling libatious liquid all over his ‘TRIAD’ t-shirt. Welsh is too stunned to react.
“Huh? My screen door imported from France and manufactured nearly five hundred years ago?” The screen door is destroyed. “The screen…a former net the great Earnest Hemingway used as protection over his tent when he slept on the plains of Africa during one of his legendary hunts.”
Yes, the screen. Ripped up.
Dazed, Welsh stumbles into the house. It resembles a fraternity house, only less clean and organized. His eyes bulge, he rushes over to a birdcage, “My pet magpie Charlie?!”
Charlie the Magpie is laid out. On his side, one wing draped over his body. He catches sight of Welsh’s shiny watch and slowly lifts his wing towards it, one eye opening, “Mar…” he then expires, his bird body going limp.
The vein in Welsh’s forehead steps forward. He slowly rises. The hue in his face reddening. “Alright…THAT’S IT!!!”
He slings his miniature portmanteau down onto the floor with a loud boom. His scream has a bit of an off pitched tone, a break in his voice. He turns, ready to kill.
The music stops. Everyone looks.
Slowly, Leo emerges from the crowd.
“What the FUCK? What is this?” Welsh steps up.
Leo lowers his head.
“Look at me!” Welsh lifts Leo's head and removes the futuristic shades. “What have you done with my place? My petunias? My screen door?” Welsh pauses, fighting off emotion, “My pet magpie Charlie!”
Leo’s eyes flutter.
“Get out of my sight. And take these idiots with you.”
Welsh turns his back to grab his portmanteau. A few party goers get up in Leo’s ear.
“You gonna let him talk to you like that?”
“The fuck he think he is?”
“You won the Trials. He bitched out.”
“Be the man, Leo!”
“We got your fuckin back, bro.”
“My nuts are ready.”
The music tries to start back up. But it skips. It’s hung up. Skips. Same beat over and over and over and over and over. Leo raises his head. Welsh turns around. He feels the tension thickening. Leo’s standing up. Leo’s staring back.
“What?” Welsh asks, ninety percent sure he’s still got the upper hand.
Leo snatches his shades back and puts them on, “Who do you think YOU are?”
“Excuse me?” Welsh's tone shakes, just a bit.
The crowd forms around Leo.
“You fuck up, run off, and then just expect to talk to me like that…after I carried the team to victory?”
“Oh come on, let’s remain in reality…”
Leo slaps Welsh across the face. The momentum in the crowd rises.
Welsh grabs his face, “Leo.”
“You’re fuckin weak! WEAK”
“I…I…”
Leo slaps him again. “Weak!” He slaps him a third time. “WEAK”
Welsh staggers against the wall. Leo steps up to him. Welsh flinches, his body folding inward.
“Yea, that’s what I fuckin thought, bitch. Now, get the fuck out of MY house!”
“LEO! LEO! LEO!” the party goers chant.
Welsh, avoiding eye contact, stumbles forward, trying to get through the crowd. People push him, pour drinks on him, laugh at him. He hurries through the front door, tripping over his broken screen door and falling hard onto the pavement.
Everyone points at the fallen TRIAD co-owner, laughing. Welsh rolls around, his palms bleeding. Leo stands over him, “This is my house now. My team. My time.”
“FUCK YEA, LEO!”
The pitiful Marcus Welsh drags his sorry ass off the pavement and hurries away, head down.