Road Music | W.W. Webb
FADE IN:
EXT. TWO-LANE PAVED ROAD – NIGHT
An approaching CAR zips along the deserted county highway. Its headlights are the only signs of human life in the area.
INT. CAR – NIGHT
Savage THRASH METAL MUSIC floods the interior.
Wadded-up food wrappers and empty drink cups litter the car. Fighting exhaustion, WARD (20s) clings to the steering wheel. His passenger and buddy, DEE (20s) stares grimly at the road.
IN THE HEADLIGHTS
Rusted barbed wire and rotten fence posts beyond the road hint at the long-lost glory days of cattle herds and cowboys.
WARD
Damn lame-ass shortcut.
Dee peers at a road atlas.
DEE
Maybe we took the wrong turn.
WARD
Ya think? Geez.
DEE
We could just double-back.
WARD
Fuel’s too low.
They ride for an awkward moment.
A black shape ahead resolves into a low-slung building with a naked light bulb over its front door.
EXT. A RUN-DOWN BEER JOINT – CONTINUOUS
Ward parks beside an old dusty pickup. The metal music dies. He and Dee climb out. Stretch wearily and size up the place. From within comes a faint murmur, the glimmer of lights.
INT. BEER JOINT – CONTINUOUS
The two Road Warriors stroll inside and glance around. The gloomy room has no customers seated at the beat-up tables.
They settle upon two creaky stools at the bar as a burly BARTENDER (40s) glares at them with contempt.
DEE
Hey, man. We really need some good directions. And could we charge up our phones?
WARD
Yeah, all that, and I want to know where the hell we are.
The Bartender ducks into a storage room where out of sight he clumps around and clinks beer bottles together.
Ward and Dee wait nervously. Glance around again.
DEE
Not even a juke-box. Cheap dump.
A deep CHUCKLE erupts from shadows at the far end of the bar. Startled, Ward and Dee spin in that direction.
From the darkness, a weathered hand grasps the edge of the bar. An OLD MAN (70s) leans forward. His beat-up cowboy hat hides his eyes from the overhead lights.
OLD MAN
Howdy, strangers.
DEE
Hey, dude.
WARD
Yo. Could you help us? We got lost after Springfield.
The Old Man hacks and huffs as if he will spit up a lung, then finally hocks a nasty wad of phlegm at the floor.
OLD MAN
You ain’t lost. You just ain’t listening. Ya gotta listen to the road. The road always listens. Always patient, the road listens.
He pauses to suck on a cigarette.
WARD
(softly to Dee)
Jeepers. What a loony coot…
OLD MAN
Forever a conduit. Never a destination. The road talks. Listen to the sound of your passage on the road.
The Old Man takes another long drag from his cigarette.
DEE
(softly to Ward)
Fell off his horse too many times.
OLD MAN
History. Heartbreak. Wisdom. Joy. Tragedy. The road bears witness to all who pass. Companion to grass and trees, river and fields, mountain and plain, sun and moon, rain, snow, hail, sleet, wind. The road knows much. The poetry of the road. The lullaby of asphalt or the steady crump, crump of concrete. Just listen to it sing.
He crushes his cigarette into a nearby ashtray, and leans back, disappearing into the shadows.
WARD
Aw, to hell with this hole-in-the-wall freak show. Let’s go!
He launches off his stool and storms out the front door.
DEE
Uh, thanks, fellow…man…dude.
He hustles for the exit.
EXT. BEER JOINT PARKING LOT – CONTINUOUS
Ward unlocks the car and climbs in as Dee rushes outside. Ward cranks up and the metal music ROARS back to life.
Dee snatches the passenger door open, then stops frantically patting at his pockets.
DEE
Wait! Wait! I can’t find my phone! Must have left it in there…
Dee dashes back inside as Ward angrily REVS the engine.
INT. BEER JOINT – CONTINUOUS
Still checking his pockets, Dee sprints through the door. Halfway to the bar, he slides to a stop, thunderstruck.
The only light inside now comes from the car’s headlights through the open door.
Dust and cobwebs decorate the space. Tables and chairs gone. Stools toppled or busted. A RAT scurries on the shelf behind the derelict bar causing the empty bottles to clink together.
Dee digs his phone from a pocket, and rushes back outside.
EXT. BEER JOINT PARKING LOT – CONTINUOUS
Dee scrambles into the car and slams the door.
INT. CAR – NIGHT
Wide-eyed with shock, Dee clutches his dead phone tightly as Ward drives with an expression of fierce determination.
INSET: The LOW FUEL alert glows on the instrument panel.
They ride without conversation for a long moment. Dee stirs, glances at Ward, then MUTES the oppressive music. Ward sneers, then shrugs with indifference and drives on. The car’s rumble and whoosh along the road RISES gradually.
EXT. TWO-LANE PAVED ROAD – DAWN
Pregnant with sunrise, the eastern horizon brightens ahead. The car crests a hill.
In the valley below, a few streetlights and neon signs mark the existence of a small outpost of humanity.
FADE OUT.
About the Author:
Wesley is a farm-raised Georgia native. He knows how to use dynamite and graduated from Yale University. He is a former trucker, pharmacy tech, teacher, computer programmer, carpenter, handyman, political operative, roofer, and business owner. He can operate a range of heavy equipment, owns many power tools, and still has all ten of his fingers. He loves to hear a good story and can tell a few tales of his own.