INT -- BUS -- DAY
Brooks is riding the bus, clutching the seat before him,
gripped by terror of speed and motion.
BROOKS (V.O.)
Dear Fellas. I can't believe how
fast things move on the outside.
EXT -- STREET -- PORTLAND, MAINE -- DAY
Brooks looks like a kid trying to cross the street without his
parents. People and traffic a blur.
BROOKS (V.O.)
I saw an automobile once when I was
young. Now they're everywhere.
EXT -- BREWSTER HOTEL -- DAY
Brooks comes trudging up the sidewalk. He glances up as a
prop-driven airliner streaks in low overhead.
BROOKS (V.O.)
The world went and got itself in a
big damn hurry.
He arrives at the Brewster. It ain't much to look at.
INT -- BREWSTER HOTEL -- DAY
A WOMAN leads Brooks up the stairs toward the top floor. He
has trouble climbing so many stairs.
WOMAN
No music in your room after eight
p.m. No guests after nine. No
cooking except on the hotplate...
BROOKS (V.O.)
People even talk faster. And louder.
INT -- BROOKS' ROOM -- DAY
Brooks enters. The room is small, old, dingy. Heavy wooden
beams cross the ceiling. An arched window affords a view of
Congress Street. Traffic noise drifts in. Brooks sets his bag
down. He doesn't quite know what to do. He just stands there,
like a man waiting for a bus.
BROOKS (V.O.)
The parole board got me into this
halfway house called the Brewster,
and a job bagging groceries at the
Foodway...
INT -- FOODWAY MARKET -- DAY
Loud. Jangling with PEOPLE and NOISE. Brooks is bagging
groceries. Registers are humming, kids are shrieking.
WOMAN
Make sure he double-bags. Last time
your man didn't double-bag and the
bottom near came out.
MANAGER
You double-bag like the lady says,
understand?
BROOKS
Yes sir, double-bag, surely will.
BROOKS (V.O.)
It's hard work. I try to keep up,
but my hands hurt most of the time.
I don't think the store manager
likes me very much.
EXT -- PARK -- DAY
Brooks sits alone on a bench, feeding pigeons.
BROOKS (V.O.)
Sometimes after work I go to the
park and feed the birds. I keep
thinking Jake might show up and say
hello, but he never does. I hope
wherever he is, he's doing okay and
making new friends.
INT -- BROOKS' ROOM -- NIGHT
Dark. Traffic outside. Brooks wakes up. Disoriented. Afraid.
Somewhere in the night, a LOUD ARGUMENT is taking place.
BROOKS (V.O.)
I have trouble sleeping at night.
The bed is too big. I have bad
dreams, like I'm falling. I wake
up scared. Sometimes it takes me a
while to remember where I am.
INT -- FOODWAY -- DAY
BROOKS (V.O.)
Maybe I should get me a gun and rob
the Foodway, so they'd send me home.
I could shoot the manager while I
was at it, sort of like a bonus.
INT -- BROOKS' ROOM -- DAY (1954)
Brooks is packing his worldly possessions into the carry bag.
Undershirts, socks, etc.
BROOKS (V.O.)
But I guess I'm too old for that
sort of nonsense anymore.
INT -- BROOKS' ROOM -- SHORTLY LATER
Brooks is dressed in his suit. He finishes knotting his tie,
puts his hat on his head. The letter lies on the desk, stamped
and ready for mailing. His bag is by the door.
BROOKS (V.O.)
I don't like it here. I'm tired of
being afraid all the time. I've
decided not to stay.
He takes one last look around. Only one thing left to do. He
steps to a wooden chair in the center of the room, pulls out his
pocketknife, and glances up at the ceiling beam.
He steps up onto the chair. It wobbles queasily. Now facing
the beam, he carves a message into the wood: "Brooks Hatlen
was here." He smiles with a sort of inner peace.
BROOKS (V.O.)
I doubt they'll kick up any fuss.
Not for an old crook like me.
TIGHT ON CHAIR
His weight shifts on the wobbly chair -- and it goes out
from under him. His feet remain where they are, kicking feebly
in mid-air. His hat falls to the floor.
ANGLE WIDENS. Brooks has hanged himself. He swings gently,
facing the open window. Traffic noise floats up from below.
