ALWAYS FROM THE POV OF THE MAN WITH THE GUN, AS IF THE CAMERA IS MOUNTED ON HIS HEAD:
Darkness.
We hear sounds we can't quite identify. Footsteps? Keys? Breathing?
A door bursts open...
INT. APARTMENT
Pan quickly to take it in. The furniture is old and seedy. There's a card table with two chairs that don't match, an ancient 12-inch TV in a corner, unplugged. Punk rock posters hang askew on the wall.
The man rushes across the room. We glimpse his feet, the shirt he's wearing and his pants.
He yanks open a closet door, drops to his knees and rummages, tosses aside sneakers, tennis balls, old paperbacks.
At last, he finds it: an old-time cigar box with ornate artwork -- streetcars bearing men with handlebar mustaches -- and fancy script on the front.
He hesitates, draws a breath...
...opens the box and takes out the gun.
It's an old-style police 38-special. Not quite an antique, but close.
Inside: 6 rounds...
He spins the chamber and stuffs the gun in his waistband.
He rises and turns to go, hesitates, then turns back and grabs a black jacket, which he struggles into as he rushes out the way he came, slamming the door behind him.
EXT. CITY STREET
Almost deserted, in a run-down neighborhood with vacant lots bordered by chain-link fences.
The man with the gun walks quickly, footsteps pounding. No one's around. It's early morning, just after dawn.
We pan as he looks from side to side, up and down, catching brief glimpses of the gun stashed in his waistband.
After a few blocks, we see a shirtless, longhaired tattooed guy leaning on a mailbox across the street. The tattooed guy disappears from view as the man with the gun walks on.
After a few beats, the tattooed guy reappears, walking backward, on the other side of the street, keeping pace as the man with the gun hurries on his way.
The tattooed guy crosses the street and gets right in the man's face, hand outstretched, singing at the top of his lungs: "Give it away, give it away now! Give it away, give it away now!" (He really does resemble the lead singer of Red Hot Chili Peppers. His long hair is a wig designed to complete the effect.)
The man with the gun brings his arm into the shot as he tries to ward off the tattooed guy, who won't stop singing: "Give it away now!"
Finally, the man with the gun reaches inside his waistband. We get a clear view of the gun...
But the man doesn't take out the weapon. Instead, he grabs a few dollars from his front pocket and hands it to the tattooed guy.
The tattooed guy dances off, whooping: "GIVE IT AWAY NOW!"
The man continues walking. More blighted streets slide past.
He cuts across a parking lot where three teens crouch near a car. They appear to be doing some work on its undercarriage.
The man with the gun stoops and looks near the car's bumper. We see: the fixings of a car bomb: dynamite, wires, a timer -- etc. The gun is extremely visible in the man's waistband.
The man rises and looks from one teen to the next. Their hands are grimy -- their faces expressionless.
The man drops his hand to his waistband, near the gun...
Keeps it there for a few beats...
Suddenly, he turns and walks on, out of the lot and into the street.
His footfalls are loud and fast. He's almost running.
Streets zip past. In the distance, we HEAR an engine turn over -- then a violent explosion with metal clanging across the pavement. The car bomb has gone off. The man doesn't flinch, keeps walking.
Out of nowhere, two not-so-young toughs yank the man into an alley. They pin him against a wall.
It all happens so quickly, with such violence, we never get a clear look at their faces.
They punch the man with the gun several times and he drops to his knees. They each kick him twice, very hard.
The man with the gun rolls on the ground. The toughs bend down and take a few bills from his front pocket.
On his back, looking down the length of his body, the man coughs, brings a hand up to his face; when he draws the hand back, it's spotted with blood.
He drops his hand and it hesitates on the gun, which remains inside his waistband, hidden from the attackers' view.
The toughs walk away slowly, out of view. Their footfalls fade as the man removes his hand from the gun, struggles to his feet, wheezing and coughing.
He stumbles from the alley...
Moving fast...
Running, panting...
Streets spin past like a carousel...
Until he reaches...
A brownstone.
The man with the gun rushes up the steps...
Through the front entrance...
INT. BROWNSTONE
Down a long hallway...
Faintly, we hear HEARTBEATS on the soundtrack, almost imperceptible at first...
The man looks around at the many doors that line the corridor, stands in front of one, hesitates...
He kicks the door open and a security chain flies off as he stumbles inside...
INT. APARTMENT
The place is spare but clean. There's simple, tasteful furniture; French prints ...and a large modernistic TV mounted on the wall.
The man falls to his knees and drags himself to a closet, searches, then pulls out...
An old-fashioned cigar box.
The HEARTBEATS increase in volume...
He reaches inside the box and pulls out an ornate, silver-plated handgun -- much more upscale than the old pistol he's been using.
The man grips the shiny new weapon so tightly that his knuckles turn white and his hand begins to shake. He stares down at the carpet for several beats...
Suddenly, the TV CLICKS ON. The man turns to face the screen so we get a clear view.
THE HEARTBEATS ARE REALLY LOUD AND ANNOYING NOW...
ON TV'S SCREEN: A gun is shown in extreme close-up, pointing into the room where the action is taking place...
The HEARTBEATS are DEAFENING...
They sound almost like GUNSHOTS.
BLACKOUT.
- FIN -