2.
PTOLEMY (CONT'D)
Because even though I can remember all the way back for ninety-three years, I still don’t know for a fact what happened and a man has to know the truth and act accordingly, that’s only right. I never did what
was right before. I should have saved my little friend from that fire. I should’a tried to stop what those white men did to Coy- LOUD KNOCKING on the door stops Ptolemy. He looks up at the door, frightened and yet determined. ALFRED GULLA (O.S.) I know you’re in there, old man. Ptolemy waits a beat more. More LOUD KNOCKING. Ptolemy picks up the pistol and puts it in his jacket pocket. He notices that the recorder is still on. PTOLEMY I love you, Robyn. He turns off the recorder and stands up. He takes a step toward the door. CUT TO:
INT. PTOLEMY’S APARTMENT, LIVING ROOM - DAY CURRENT DAY
It’s the same space but this is the apartment of a hoarder. The living room has four or more times the furniture than it needs. Add to this stacks, heaps and piles of detritus and debris the room begins to seem... vertical. There are four dining tables stacked one on the other; most of the ensuant shelves are packed with junk. There are a dozen chairs of all types; most used to stack and pile things upon and shove things underneath. Also there are huge piles of newspapers, magazines and cardboard boxes overflowing with knickknacks, take-out menus, old-time mechanical and electrical devices and other less recognizable flotsam and jetsam, bits and bobs. One of the shelves that the stacked tables form is made up like a cot. The imposition of so much debris has transformed a fair sized room into a literal maze.
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