EXT. CITY STREET, DAY.
A bead of sweat traces a line down the creased forehead of a man. It is brint rustle, a 50 year old, muscular, grim looking man. His eyes stare coldly ahead, but the veins popping on his neck and temples betray an unimaginable tension building inside. He stands outside the doorway of a great hotel. It's raining.
Brint hears a manic woman yelling.
I found a knife! Hello, police, I found a knife! Hello!
The woman waves a knife hysterically at a policeman who leans against his car. This is Monk, a 30-something year-old man. Monk is thoughorly unimpressed, and accordingly, unmoved.
I found a knife right here on the ground! You don't care? What if my child had found the knife! This isn't the first time I've found a weapon in this city!
Monk remains unimpressed. The woman persists.
This is a stabbing knife! This is a weapon! What if it's been used as a murder weapon! Don't you want it as evidence? You don't even care! My fingerprints are on it now! I've tampered with the evidence! Shouldn't I be in jail?
Brint, at the hotel door, observes all of this with the same visible tension in his body. Suddenly, the woman lets out a godless nightmare SCREAM. Monk steps forward and grabs her, aggressively.
Is that everything, bitch?
He grabs the back of her neck with a weathered, hard hand, and slams her face directly on to the bonnet of his car. Her nose CRACKS, he lifts her head back up.
Is that everything, bitch?
Again he slams her face into the bonnet of the car. Blood sprays from her nose. The woman is dazed, and holds out her hands uselessly. Monk manhandles her into the back of the police car, and slams the door shut. He motions to her in an exaggerated way to roll down the window. She stares at him blankly, but understands, and obeys. Monk locks the car, and walks towards the hotel door. He greets Brint with a shake of the head.
What time is it buddy?
Brint gestures to a large clock on the building opposite the hotel
It's three forty-five.
Jesus Christ. I'm not finished until five.
He looks back at the woman in the car, who holds her nose by the stem.
Maybe a bit after five. You'll be here?
You know Monk, I've been standing at this door every day for the past year, sometimes in the rain, like today. I stand here for eight hours. I've had a lot of time to think. And today, something entered my mind. I'm fifty years old. Can you tell me when my birthday is?
We went to the bar on your birthday, that was back in May.. 16th.
May 16th. That's my birthday, every year. But can you tell me when my fiftieth birthday was? I remember turning 21, because I went to the bar and bought myself a drink. But when the fuck did I turn fifty, and if I'm fifty, why do I stand here for eight hours before a 21 year-old kid takes my place for the next eight hours?
The clock opposite the hotel turns to three-forty-six. Inside the car, the woman puts her seatbelt on.
Can we unban MommyBuster please?