<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38722814</id><updated>2011-12-14T21:56:04.101-05:00</updated><title type='text'>5th Street</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fifthstreetthetvseries.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/38722814/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fifthstreetthetvseries.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Verticus Erectus</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Fq7AKH63dSU/SawcZMbmLpI/AAAAAAAAAzk/0s_kxW2DMVY/S220/GumsandalsLens.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>1</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38722814.post-116969143706100811</id><published>2007-01-24T21:13:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-09-16T16:55:15.847-04:00</updated><title type='text'>5th Street: A TV Series</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://i81.photobucket.com/albums/j240/Gumsandals/5thStreetPoster.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: pointer; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://i81.photobucket.com/albums/j240/Gumsandals/5thStreetPoster.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Pages 3-12 of the teleplay. Bobby Ray is a thirty-something boxer waking up from a coma after having just lost a brutal fight that nearly cost him his life.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;FADE IN ON&lt;br /&gt;INT. BOBBY RAY’S BRONX APT. – DAY&lt;br /&gt;We see Bobby Ray’s face. He is lying in bed in his apartment in the Bronx. One eye is partially swollen, his face is healing. He’s wearing a neck brace. His neck has a minor fracture. He’s smoking, thinking.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;MANAGER (V.O.)&lt;br /&gt;You can’t fight no more, Bobby Ray. Doc says one more good punch to the head and you’re gone. Dead. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BOBBY RAY (V.O)&lt;br /&gt;What ‘bout my shot at the title? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;MANAGER (V.O.)&lt;br /&gt;That punch did more damage than I thought. Did you hear me, son? You’re out of the running. You’re a one punch has been.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BOBBY RAY (V.O.)&lt;br /&gt;Where you goin’?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;MANAGER (V.O.)&lt;br /&gt;I’m getting out of here. I only stopped by to tell you it’s over. I’m no longer your manager. I’m lookin’ for a fighter who can take a punch.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BOBBY RAY (V.O.)&lt;br /&gt;You can’t just leave me like this? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;MANAGER (V.O.)&lt;br /&gt;Yeah I can. Here’s your cut.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BOBBY RAY (V.O.)&lt;br /&gt;What’s this? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;MANAGER (V.O.)&lt;br /&gt;Not much. Good luck, kid. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The SOUND of a door is heard slamming shut. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;FADE OUT.&lt;br /&gt;FADE IN ON&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;INT. BOBBY RAY’S BRONX APT. – DAY&lt;br /&gt;Bobby Ray is sitting at a table in a cheap run-down apartment in the Bronx. He’s wearing a white tank top, boxers. He’s smoking and looking at the small pile of crumpled up tens and twenties on the table. He picks up a few of the bills, looks at them and lets them fall back to the table, one-by-one. He closes his eyes and runs his hands through his greasy black hair. He opens his eyes and stops. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The open window. The thin curtains are drawn outside by a passing breeze. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He pauses, gets up with some effort and starts for the window.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He steps up to the window and looks out. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He sees a desolate, gray, dirty neighborhood. The only thing of color is his ’59 pink Caddy convertible. Its top is up, the windows closed tight. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bobby Ray sucks off the cigarette and looks up and around at the neighborhood. He pauses and then looks back at his Caddy. A slight smile breaks across his face and disappears. He puts his bare foot on the windowsill, pulls himself up and sits down, his legs dangling out over the side. Someone knocks on the door. He takes a slow drag on the cigarette. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BOBBY RAY&lt;br /&gt;Yeah?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;GUIDO (V.O.)&lt;br /&gt;Bobby Ray? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BOBBY RAY&lt;br /&gt;Yeah?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;GUIDO (V.O.)&lt;br /&gt;May I have a word with you? Your manager sent us over. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BOBBY RAY&lt;br /&gt;I don’t have a manager. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;GUIDO (V.O.)&lt;br /&gt;Sure you do. He says we might be able to do some business. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bobby Ray finds it amusing. He can’t believe the timing. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BOBBY RAY&lt;br /&gt;Wait a minute. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He pulls his legs back in, turns and walks over to the door.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bobby Ray is talking as he unlocks the door.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BOBBY RAY&lt;br /&gt;What kind of business? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As soon as Bobby Ray unlocks the door, two big well-dressed mob enforcers push their way in.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;GUIDO&lt;br /&gt;The kind of business where you pay us for losing the fight. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BOBBY RAY&lt;br /&gt;What’re you talking about? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;GUIDO&lt;br /&gt;(pushing Bobby)&lt;br /&gt;Your manager screwed us royally when we invested in your career. We can’t find him, but we got you and you owe us big time. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BOBBY RAY&lt;br /&gt;I don’t know what the hell you’re taking about. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;GUIDO&lt;br /&gt;Mr. Ray, we don’t care. We just want our money. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bobby Ray sighs, shakes his head and says: &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BOBBY RAY&lt;br /&gt;And how much would that be?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;GUIDO&lt;br /&gt;Can you say two million dollars?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BOBBY RAY&lt;br /&gt;( laughing)&lt;br /&gt;Two million dollars? Are you kidding me?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;GUIDO&lt;br /&gt;Do I look like I’m the kind of guy who kids around? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BOBBY RAY&lt;br /&gt;No, no you don’t. I’m sorry, I didn’t’ get your name. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;GUIDO&lt;br /&gt;It’s Guido.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BOBBY RAY&lt;br /&gt;Guido? Are you kidding me? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;GUIDO&lt;br /&gt;Do you think something is funny? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BOBBY RAY&lt;br /&gt;I’m sorry, Guido, but the only money I have is sitting on that table. It ain’t much but it’s all I got.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Guido looks at the table. His partner goes over, grabs it up and starts to count it. While he counts, Guido gives Bobby Ray the once over. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;MARIO&lt;br /&gt;One hundred and fifty-five dollars.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;GUIDO&lt;br /&gt;Now, are you kidding me, Mr. Ray? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BOBBY RAY&lt;br /&gt;I wish I was. It’s all I got. And talk about bad timing. There is nothing you can do to me to get that money.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;GUIDO&lt;br /&gt;(as Mario walks up behind him)&lt;br /&gt;And why is that, Mr. Ray?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BOBBY RAY&lt;br /&gt;‘Cause I was just about to jump out that window.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Guido and Mario pause.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;GUIDO&lt;br /&gt;I’m sure you were.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BOBBY RAY&lt;br /&gt;Hey, don’t believe me. I’m goin’ out in style. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bobby Ray runs toward the window. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Guido and Mario catch themselves and run after him. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;EXT. BOBBY RAY’S BRONX APT. – DAY&lt;br /&gt;Guido and Mario grab Bobby Ray just as he is about to leap from the window. He struggles to get away but he is too weak. They pull him back in.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;INT. BOBBY RAY’S BRONX APT. – DAY&lt;br /&gt;Bobby Ray crashes against the floor and grabs his neck brace. He’s in a whole lot of pain.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BOBBY RAY&lt;br /&gt;Why the hell did you do that? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Guido and Mario are out of breath. Guido is wiping his brow with a silk handkerchief. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;GUIDO&lt;br /&gt;Are you crazy or something?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bobby Ray is thrashing about on the floor. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BOBBY RAY&lt;br /&gt;What do you think? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Guido pauses, looks at Mario. Mario shrugs. Guido’s got himself a problem. He whips out a cell phone, dials a number. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;GUIDO&lt;br /&gt;Boss?..Guido. I got a problem here...He only has one-hundred-and-fifty-five bucks and he just tried to kill himself...Tried to jump out a window...Couple stories...Don’t kill him? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bobby Ray stops thrashing to listen. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;GUIDO (O.S.)&lt;br /&gt;How ‘bout I break his hand? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bobby Ray lifts a concerned eyebrow. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;GUIDO (O.S.)&lt;br /&gt;What career?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bobby Ray sadly shakes his head.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Guido turns from the phone.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;GUIDO&lt;br /&gt;What’s your phone number?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bobby Ray groans.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BOBBY RAY&lt;br /&gt;Hell, I don’t know. I’ve been in a freakin’ coma. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Guido turns back to the phone.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;GUIDO&lt;br /&gt;He doesn’t know it.&lt;br /&gt;( pauses)&lt;br /&gt;Okay, let me look.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Guido walks over to the phone sitting on the table and reads the number.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;GUIDO&lt;br /&gt;212-555-6140...All right. You got it, boss. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Guido flips his phone back up, sticks it inside his suit jacket and walks over to Bobby Ray.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bobby Ray pulls his legs in expecting the worse.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Guido instead bends down and lifts Bobby Ray to his feet. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;GUIDO&lt;br /&gt;Mr. Ray, my boss says I can’t hurt you. Yet. You can keep the money. He wants you to fight one more time. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BOBBY RAY&lt;br /&gt;You gotta be kidding! Do you see this neck brace? I almost broke my neck! I can’t fight anymore! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;GUIDO&lt;br /&gt;Rest up, Mr. Ray. My boss said you’ll be well compensated for your efforts. He’s gonna call you back. So don’t do anything foolish. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He motions to Mario. Mario throws the money back down on the table. When they get to the door, Guido turns and with the straightest of faces says: &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;GUIDO&lt;br /&gt;Like my mother use to say, Mr. Ray, when life gives you lemons, make lemonade. We’ll be in touch.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Guido closes the door behind him. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bobby Ray pauses for a second and then breaks out laughing-- until the pain in the back of his neck brings it to a screeching halt. He nearly collapses. As he spins around, he sees something on the floor. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It’s his cigarette. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He stumbles over to it, picks it up and takes a drag. He almost chokes. He staggers over to the open window, pauses, and then throws the cigarette out into the air. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The cigarette floats slowly down toward the Caddy.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;EXT. BOBBY RAY’S BRONX APT. - DAY&lt;br /&gt;The cigarette lands on the canvass top and starts to burn through.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bobby Ray shakes his head and smiles. As he lifts a leg and steps onto the windowsill, the phone rings. He pauses, sighs and decides to answer the phone. He steps back down and walks over to the phone on the table. He picks it up and walks back over to the window. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BOBBY RAY&lt;br /&gt;Look, whoever you are, I’m not fighting anymore. You got that? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;DIEGO (V.O.)&lt;br /&gt;Yeah, I got it. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bobby Ray pauses for a moment before stepping back onto the windowsill. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BOBBY RAY&lt;br /&gt;So what are you going to do about it?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;DIEGO (V.O.)&lt;br /&gt;Nothin’. I’m glad you’re giving it up.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BOBBY RAY&lt;br /&gt;Hey, who is this? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;DIEGO (V.O.)&lt;br /&gt;Diego Sanchez. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bobby Ray pauses for a moment. He is now sitting on the windowsill, his feet dangling over the side.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BOBBY RAY&lt;br /&gt;Diego Sanchez?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;INT. 5TH STREET GYM – DAY&lt;br /&gt;DIEGO “DYNAMITE” SANCHEZ is on the other end of the line in his second floor office. In his 50’s, Diego is a one time Welterweight champion who quit boxing when he killed a man in the ring. But he couldn’t quit the game. He became a manager of a whole new generation of boxers who were to change the face of boxing. Some became champions but every one of them became warrior-poets under his tutelage. His success and fame afforded him the opportunity to buy the legendary 5th Street Gym in South Beach. Most of this information is displayed on the office walls in framed news, photo stories, and pictures of him shaking famous hands, etc. Since the door is usually left open in his office, Diego has to shout over the sounds of the gym. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;DIEGO&lt;br /&gt;Can you hear me? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BOBBY RAY (V.O.)&lt;br /&gt;Yeah, I hear you. Why you callin’ me?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;DIEGO&lt;br /&gt;I’ve been trying to get you since last month’s fight. Until yesterday, no one could find you or your sad excuse for a manager. How you doin’?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;EXT. BOBBY RAY’S BRONX APT. - DAY &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BOBBY RAY&lt;br /&gt;I’ve had better days. How’d you find me? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;DIEGO (V.O.)&lt;br /&gt;Someone I know spotted your Caddy. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bobby Ray looks down. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The fire is getting bigger. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bobby Ray is still looking down at the Caddy as smoke wafts upward.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;DIEGO (V.O.)&lt;br /&gt;I just want to congratulate you on a great fight.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BOBBY RAY&lt;br /&gt;I think you got the wrong guy. I lost that fight. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;INT. 5TH STREET GYM – DAY&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;DIEGO&lt;br /&gt;No you didn’t, kid. You went down like a champion. Champions don’t give up and neither did you. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BOBBY RAY (V.O.)&lt;br /&gt;Mr. Sanchez, I appreciate you callin’ me, but you caught me at a bad time. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;DIEGO&lt;br /&gt;I want you to come down and work for me. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;EXT. BOBBY RAY’S BRONX APT. – DAY &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bobby Ray has to pause.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BOBBY RAY&lt;br /&gt;You want me to what?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;DIEGO (V.O.)&lt;br /&gt;Work for me. I heard you got dumped by that good-for-nothin’ manager; thought you might want a little R&amp;amp;R down here. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;INT. 5TH STREET GYM – DAY &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;DIEGO&lt;br /&gt;I’ll start you out slowly. You can soak up some rays, maybe get reacquainted with someone who’s been askin’ ‘bout you.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Diego looks up.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BOBBY RAY (V.O.)&lt;br /&gt;Who’s that? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;DIEGO (O.S.)&lt;br /&gt;I’m looking at her right now.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ANNA SANCHEZ is Diego’s twenty-something daughter. We see her from the second floor window. She’s talking to some young kids on the sidewalk just outside the gym. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;EXT. BOBBY RAY’S BRONX APT. – DAY&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BOBBY RAY&lt;br /&gt;You gotta help me here, Diego? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;DIEGO (O.S.)&lt;br /&gt;My daughter, Anna. Remember her?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BOBBY RAY&lt;br /&gt;Anna? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Smoke billows up into the shot. Bobby Ray looks down.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Flames and smoke are now leaping off the ragtop, nipping at his bare feet.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bobby Ray almost loses his balance.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But his free hand grabs the side of the window. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He looks at his hand and turns away. He realizes he doesn’t really want to die.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BOBBY RAY&lt;br /&gt;Diego, I’ll see you in a couple of days.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He grabs his bare feet and blows on them, which causes him to lose his balance and fall backward into the apartment.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BOBBY RAY (O.S.)&lt;br /&gt;( wailing)&lt;br /&gt;Oh, puhlease..! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A moment passes before he struggles to his feet, hobbles over to the table and hangs up the phone. It starts ringing. He picks up the money that was left behind, grabs his pants and shoes and limps out the door without bothering to close it. By this time, the smoke is blowing thickly outside the window. You can hear the crackling fire lunching on prime 50’s glory while the phone keeps ringing. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;FADE OUT.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;MUSIC RISES (&lt;em&gt;Swing Low Sweet Cadillac&lt;/em&gt; by Arturo Sandoval and Dizzy Gillespie).&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;object classid="clsid:d27cdb6e-ae6d-11cf-96b8-444553540000" codebase="http://fpdownload.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=8,0,0,0" width="335" height="28" id="divplaylist"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.divshare.com/flash/playlist?myId=8532592-049" /&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.divshare.com/flash/playlist?myId=8532592-049" width="335" height="28" name="divplaylist" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;FADE IN ON&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;EXT. AERIAL MACARTHUR CSWY. MIAMI BEACH – DAY&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;CREDITS RISE.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bobby Ray, unshaven and unkempt, is tooling down the causeway with the top down. It wouldn’t do him any good to have it up. The only thing left of it is its scorched frame. The pink paint job is blackened around the rear seat and trunk. Behind him across the water is the stunning downtown Miami skyline. He unbuckles his neck brace and throws it back over the Caddy. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;EXT. MACARTHUR CSWY. - DAY&lt;br /&gt;The neck brace rolls across the median and down to the water’s edge.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Registered by the WGA.&lt;br /&gt;Other screenplays by D.C. Copeland: &lt;a href="http://www.badpresents.blogspot.com/"&gt;Bad Presents&lt;/a&gt;, &lt;a href="http://www.crownjewelsthebookandmovie.blogspot.com/"&gt;Crown Jewels&lt;/a&gt;, &lt;a href="http://www.highschoolreunionmassacre.blogspot.com/"&gt;High School Reunion Massacre&lt;/a&gt;, &lt;a href="http://www.luckybastardthemovie.blogspot.com/"&gt;Lucky Bastard! A Family Film&lt;/a&gt;, &lt;a href="http://www.monstermountain.blogspot.com/"&gt;Monster Mountain&lt;/a&gt;, &lt;a href="http://www.nokosee.blogspot.com/"&gt;Nokosee&lt;/a&gt;, &lt;a href="http://www.onceuponatimeinharlem.blogspot.com/"&gt;Once Upon A Time In Harlem&lt;/a&gt;, &lt;a href="http://www.savethechildrenthemovie.blogspot.com/"&gt;Save the Children&lt;/a&gt;, &lt;a href="http://www.treethemovie.blogspot.com/"&gt;Tree!&lt;/a&gt;, &lt;a href="http://victoriaparke.blogspot.com/"&gt;Victoria Parke&lt;/a&gt;, &lt;a href="http://www.yahoothemovie.blogspot.com/"&gt;Yahoo!&lt;/a&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/38722814-116969143706100811?l=fifthstreetthetvseries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/38722814/posts/default/116969143706100811'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/38722814/posts/default/116969143706100811'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fifthstreetthetvseries.blogspot.com/2007/01/5th-street-tv-series.html' title='5th Street: A TV Series'/><author><name>Verticus Erectus</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Fq7AKH63dSU/SawcZMbmLpI/AAAAAAAAAzk/0s_kxW2DMVY/S220/GumsandalsLens.jpg'/></author></entry></feed>
