Schizobloggia

FADE IN:

Pulsing music drives titles across a black screen.
The music softens as subtitles continue to slide in, indicating:

TORONTO, CANADA

And as the camera pans across the city:

MONDAY, APRIL THE TWENTY-FIFTH

The camera selects and slowly zooms in on one large old building:

TWO FORTY-THREE P.M.

We cautiously edge toward an open window, whose slightly raised blind leaves a narrow orifice for us to slip through. The dim light within reveals a seedily furnished bedroom. An attractive woman in bra and half-slip lies on the bed, gazing up at a shirtless man who stands alongside. Some fast-food items are on the table.


MATT:
(internal) Write something on your blog. You have to. It's been too long. You have readers who read it and they want to see something new. Come on man, do it.

MARION:
I better get back to the office. These extended lunch hours give my boss excess acid.

MATT:
Why don't you call your boss and tell him you're taking the rest of the afternoon off? It's Friday, anyway--and hot.
(internal) I've got to get out of this and write something on my blog. But what can I write?

MARION:
What do I do with my free afternoon? Walk you to the airport?

MATT:
Well, we could laze around here a while longer.

MARION:
Checking out time is three P.M. (They sink down on the bed, facing each other. More kissing and caressing.) Hotels of this sort aren't interested in you when you come in, but when your time is up-- Oh, Sam, I hate having to be with you in a place like this!

MATT:
Yes, you are right. I better go then.