EXT COFFEE SHOP - NOON
Two people drinking Frappuccinos seated at the small patio nook table. When a pesky fly lands nearby, one of the two customers reached out to it and flicks it. The second person seated next to the flicker guy doesn't really see what happened and discards the gesture as her friend simply flicking a crumb left on the table from a previous person.
The fly spins in circles, dazed, as it tries to take flight again. The person responsible for having flicked the fly, casually swoops it up and pops it into his mouth.
We see his companion's puzzled look as she tries to understand what it could possibly have been that her friend popped into his mouth. We hear a snapping crunch, much like the sound gum chewing fanatics do every time they pop their gum between their teeth, and the puzzled look becomes one of disgust and we look on at the expression the unsuspecting coffee drinker makes as her imagination thinks the worse.
What was that?
What was what?
INT. JURY WAITING - AFTERNOON
A room full of prospective jurors await their turn for the selection process. As names are being called, people shuffle from their chair to the next group of jurors gathered to meet the judge in the trial they're being selected for, which is probably good that their names are being called immediately after lunch so that food comas and snoring isn't an issue.
INT. COURTROOM - CONTINUOUS
When did you get that haircut?
It's a Buzzcut.
I'm sorry but that looks nothing like a buzzcut.
My bad, Buzz Osborne. It's a Buzz Osborne... your honor.
I asked my barber to give me a Buzz Osborne.
What is your barbers name?
You're barber's female.
I couldn't say. I don't know Em that well to tell you her preferred pronouns.
Half the jury pool is bored and sleeping as the conversation between AARON and the Judge continue onward.
Last night I had a dream. I never remember my dreams. This one must've been important. It was about the lead singer of a heavy metal band that was being sentenced to about three months in prison.
The crowd of fans were screaming and yelling in support of their favorite band. Everybody thought it was wrong to incarcerate him just because of the lyrics he sang.
They were passing around his personal phone number so that people could call him and leave messages of support on his answering machine.
Gabby Petito was there. She was the one who handed me a can of soda where the band's frontman's phone number was printed. I dropped the can and it rolled away and into a ditch.
By the time the can settled in place and out of reach, Gabby was already on her way back home, taking a hiking trail dangerously narrow.
I had called to her about the can. I wasn't certain if I'd be able to reach it without her help. This must've distracted her enough to trip and fall where she landed square against a metal barrier. I could hear the snap her spine made as I cringe away too late to avoid the sight of her back bending like a piece of paper.