EXT. CENTRAL PARK - DAY A man sits on a nondescript park bench that borders the park. It is early May and the weather has begun to warm. Beneath the cover of the trees he is partially shaded from the beating sun. The man sits in a floor length tan trench coat and dockers. His shoes, brown Bruno Magli's rest flat against the cobble sidewalk. They are covered in what appears to be blackboard chalk. ANGLE UP ON The man from the sidewalk. The walk, bordered by more benches, extends for miles in a straight line beyond him. He looks at something in his hand. ANGLE We see the man's face now, from between his knees. Tears stream down his face. His eyes dart left to right, as joggers and the like run past. Little sound can be heard. A few birds CHIRP low in the trees and across the street a construction crew HAMMERS loudly on the outer face of a high residential building He toys with the object in his hand.
His fingers are covered in a dark brown soot as his they move over the object. He utters a loud SQUEAL as he struggles for breath. He continues to hem and haw as panic sets in. Another man at the end of the block takes notice. EXT. STREET CORNER - CONTINUOUS A police officer stand next to a corner concession stand and hands over a barely recognizable one spot. He receives a perspiring Poland Spring in return. POLICE OFFICER Hell of a hot one we're gunna have. It ain't even noon yet. CONCESSIONAIRE Yes. But it's good for business. POLICE OFFICER Maybe for you Ray, but you don't
have to haul your ass up and down the side walk in this damned get up all day. RAY Well you're problem ain't all bad. POLICE OFFICER And how's that? RAY It ain't my problRay, the concessionaire, is interrupted by yet another odd noise emanating from the man on the bench. EXT. PARK BENCH - CONTINUOUS The officer places the ice cold water back on Ray's stand unopened and moves, cautiously, toward the trenchcoated man. POLICE OFFICER Sir. Are you alright? The trenchcoated man, who is as pale as ever now, and couldn't weigh more than one hundred and ten pounds places one hand over his mouth, as if to stifle any noise as he struggles to breath. The brown soot that covers both hands now smears onto his chin, lips, and nose. He continues to try and hide his face from the officer. The officer continues to approach with caution. POLICE OFFICER Excuse me sir? I said are you alright over there. The man begins to fidget with a sense of controlled chaos. His hands moving erratically from between his legs to up near his face. The man's breathing becomes increasingly labored and his welling eyes begin to spill over, streaming tears down his face. Finally the officer in just inches from the man. ANGLE We see the mans hands, draped between his knees, are in focus. Out of focus in the near distance we see the figure of the police officer in his navy blue uniform.
ANGLE The man's eyes distractedly look at the officer for an instant, they then return back to the object between his fingers. POLICE OFFICER Sir? Can you hear me? At this the man shudders. And recoils on the bench. His eyes now darting between the building across the street and the officer. The officer's right hand moves with liquid ease to his hip, unbuttoning the Beretta 92F from it's holster. POLICE OFFICER I'm going to have to ask you to show me what's in your hand sir. The man jerks away once more, tightening his grasp on the object. The officer moves closer. POLICE OFFICER Sir. I'm not going to ask you again. (Beat) Show me your hands. MAN (Whisper) I can't- I ca-. You. How? I can't. The man's eye movement grows more frantic and now he appears to be trembling all over. The takes the customary three paces back and raises his firearm, pointing square at the man's chest. POLICE OFFICER Sir! Last chance. Show me your hands. The officer's grip on the pistol tightens, as does the man's grip on his object. The man slams his eyes shut. And mutters incessantly. The officer thumbs back the hammer. And holds his breath in. His finger slips the safety off. His index hugs the trigger.
Suddenly, the man's eyes spring open with surprise and horror, he looks directly into the officer's eyes. Tears stream down his face, spotting his brown coat with plot marks of black. MAN (softly) I didn't mean to. The officer looks on in confused wonder. The man's finger begin to loosen their grip and part from one another. MAN I'm so sorry. I don't underst- I don't know how it happened. His hands come free. Sitting on his right palm is an large rusting tie anchor. A material used in industrial building. The officer looks at the soot covered object in the man's hand and then to the man's pleading, horrified face. POLICE OFFICER What the hell is thAs he speaks he hears a load GROANING breaks his concentration. Both men's eyes dart to The Majestic residential building across the street. The crew atop the high scaffolding cease hammering almost simultaneously. Another CREAK emanates from the work site. POLICE OFFICER What did you do? As if to answer him the steal supports SCREAM once more before compromising altogether. With a final GROAN the joints begin to break. POPPING and CRACKING fills the air like rifle fire. The scaffolding begins to collapse in on itself, sending plaster dust and debris into the air. The SMASHING sound made by eight stories of steal supports crashing to the ground echoes out over central park.
As the dust plooms out into the street and screams fill the clouded air, the police officer runs across the street. POLICE OFFICER Somebody call the 9-1-1! ANGLE We see the man still sitting on the bench, the air a little less clear now. No birds are can be heard singing now. CLOSE UP The man's face trembles as tears continue down his face. He looks down to his hands once more. They are stained with rust that has now gotten deep under his nails. But they are empty. The object is gone.