Archive for February 5, 2013

Entire contents trademarked TM and copyrighted (c) by Ryan Carey, 2013. That means that is you want to reproduce or us this material for any reason, you have to ask me real nice.



LARRY is visible entering the bar through a back service entrance. The bar is manned by a BARTENDER, and there are roughly a half-dozen customers seated at a smattering of tables, and two or three others seated at the bar itself. There is a stage at the front of the tabled area. LARRY makes his way to the bar and offers a firm handshake to the BARTENDER, while simultaneously striking up conversation.

LARRY : ‘Evening, my good man, Larry Pritchard, Synched-Up Entertainment.

BARTENDER : You’re that karaoke guy in from Minneapolis?

LARRY : That I am. Got a two-wheeler I can borrow for a few?

BARTENDER : Sure, hold on a sec.

(Yells into the back)

BARTENDER CON’T : Wanda! Can ya roll out that handtruck over by the cooler?

A moment or two passes in silence, LARRY rapping his fingers against the bar rail, the BARTENDER drying beer glasses, until he calls out again.

BARTENDER CON’T : Wanda!!!!!!!!!!

The BARTENDER pours a beer from the tap and hands it to one of the customers seated at the bar, while LARRY reaches into his shirt pocket for his cigarettes,

BARTENDER : Well, fuck it, I dunno where she is.

The BARTENDER turns a glance to one of the PATRONs at the bar and addresses him directly.

BARTENDER CON’T : Rog, make sure the place doesn’t burn down for a couple minutes, willya?

BAR PATRON : You got it.



The BARTENDER, two-wheeler in tow, and LARRY approach LARRY’s car. He inserts his key into the hatch-back and pops it open.

BARTENDER : Was startin’ to think you got lost.

LARRY : Expected me earlier, huh?

BARTENDER : We never did nothin’ like this before. How long’s it all take to set up?

LARRY : Shit — twenty minutes.

BARTENDER : Well, hell, in that case I guess yer early.

LARRY (chuckles) :  I dunno, could be. I like to give myself a little extra in a new joynt just in case I need to hook up a power strip or anything like that.

BARTENDER : Nah, won’t need none o’ that. There’s like four sockets up front there.

LARRY : Good deal. Quick n’ easy.

BARTENDER : You hopin’ I’m gonna finish that with “—like the broads in this town?”

LARRY (self-conscious laughter) : Not really. I dunno. Hadn’t thought that far ahead, I guess.

LARRY and the BARTENDER reach into the back of the car and hoist the karaoke machine onto the two-wheeler.

BARTENDER : What? You don’t bust each other’s balls back in the Twin Cities?

BARTENDER slaps LARRY on the back. LARRY locks the back of the car up again.

BARTENDER CON’T (looking at karaoke machine in a mild state of disbelief) : This it?

LARRY : This is it. Well, pretty much. I’ll come grab the songbooks and the screen when we’re done with this bad boy. You guys have a mic and a stand, right?

BARTENDER : Sure. We sometimes have a band on weekends. When the owner don’t feel like flushin’ his money down the toilet.

LARRY : Yeah — I was kinda surprised by this whole gig, gotta admit. And that there wasn’t anybody closer who did this kinda shit.

The BARTENDER takes the lead pushing the machine in on the two-wheeler, Larry a half-step behind him. They continue conversing as they make their way back towards the rear entrance of the bar.

BARTENDER : It’s the tourists, ain’t it? Lotsa folks come through on these summer n’ fall weekends, checking out the potters an’ painters an’ quilters an’ I dunno what the fuck else. Even got a blacksmith in here in town. Ronnie figgers he’ll give all them Minneapolis yuppies the kinda bar scene they’re used to back home.

LARRY : Yeah, I heard this town’s almost like a throwback artist’s commune or something.

BARTENDER : Never been to one o’ those, but yeah — back when property was cheap here, a lotta artistic types started buyin’ up houses and convertin’ ’em into like home studio things or whatever. Started bringin’  in a buncha folks on little weekend-drive leaf trips or whatever. Then they kinda slowly started showin’ up in the spring an’ summer, too, after awhile. I dunno — nothin’ else ta do, I guess.

LARRY : They work yer nerves?

BARTENDER : Shit. They can. Coupl’a the diners in town are more like them gourmet coffee bars now. But fuck it — it’s good fer business, ya know? This town was pretty much a ghost town before all that.

LARRY (half to himself) : “We had to destroy the village in order to save it.”

BARTENDER : What’s that?

LARRY : Nothing. Thanks for doin’ the heavy labor.

BARTENDER : Shit, gets me outta that smoke pit fer a couple minutes. You’ll prob’ly have to handle the rest on yer own, though. Got thirsty animals back in that cage.

LARRY : No problem. ‘S what I get paid for.

Entire contents trademarked TM and copyrighted (c) by Ryan Carey, 2013. That means if you want to reproduce or use this material for any reason, you have to ask me real nice.



LARRY gathers his belongings for the weekend in his less-than-modest studio apartment. He roughly shoves a couple changes of clothes, an extra pair of shoes, etc. into an overnight bag on his unmade bed. He opens his closet and inspects a couple of ties, then drapes them over a wire hanger that he has a pressed white dress shirt hanging on. He lays the shirt and ties out over the top of the overnight bag, looks at his watch, and proceeds  into the kitchen, where he as a small table-and-two-chairs- type set-up, empty but for an astray on the table. He takes a seat, lights a cigarette, and looks out his kitchen window. His reverie is interrupted by an incoming call on his cell phone. He looks at the number, takes a bit of a deep breath, then lets it ring one more time before picking up.

LARRY (into phone) : Hi dad, what’s up?


LARRY (into phone) CON’T: Are you sure? Is that definitely what he said?

(longer pause)

LARRY (into phone) CON’T : I know you don’t trust those guys, but —

(brief pause)

LARRY (into phone) CON’T: Right, but then why have you been taking your car there all these years? Seriously, I mean, since I was a kid.

(another, longer pause)

LARRY(into phone) CON’T : No, I’m not trying to tell you what you should do, it’s just that —

(brief pause again)

LARRY (into phone) CON’T : I know, I know — sometimes you just have to —

(lengthy pause, LARRY sets the phone down for a moment and take a couple more drags off his cigarette)

LARRY (into phone) CON’T : Well, just let me know how it all plays out, okay? I’m running a little short on time right now, I gotta —

(short pause)

LARRY CON’T : No, I told you, dad. Wisconsin. (momentary pause) No, it’s not all that far. (brief pause again) I think it’s two-lane most of the way. (pauses, gives a mildly exasperated look and rubs his forehead) Probably two, two-and-a-half hours, tops. (another, lengthier pause) I changed the oil , I dunno, maybe three weeks ago. (short pause) Okay, love you too, dad.

LARRY clicks the call off, gathers up his shirt, ties, and overnight bag in two hands, proceeds to the doorway, surveys the place quickly one last time, and exits, closing and locking the door behind him.



Driver’s side window half-rolled down, LARRY smokes as he drives, taking in some sights in passing along the way, all depicted from his perspective in the driver’s seat. City streets with semi-heavy car and pedestrian traffic give way to a largely-uncongested freeway with the requisite billboards, etc., which in turn give way to a bridge going across a river, and finally to tree-lined, two-way, rural-ish highway, culminating with a shot of a sign reading ” The Rotary Club Welcomes You To — SPLIT ROCK, WISCONSIN — Home Of The Turttles!”



LARRY gathers his belongings from the car before giving it a second thought, placing them back in the back seat, and proceeding into the motel office.



No one is at the desk but LARRY hears a TV set from behind the closed door to the office’s back room and rings the bell at the desk.

MOTEL CLERK (from other side of door) : Coming.

The MOTEL CLERK emerges from the door, TV set visible in the background, and closes the door behind him, approaching the desk.

MOTEL CLERK CON’T: What can I do ya for?

LARRY : Single room, two nights, smoking.

MOTEL CLERK : Don’t gotta ask. They’re all smoking here until Madison says otherwise.

LARRY : I like it, I like it.

MOTEL CLERK (now standing directly behind cash register at desk): 39 a night, in advance, check-out’s at 11:00.

LARRY (opening wallet): Mind if I just pay you for the whole thing now?

MOTEL CLERK : Mind? Hell, you pay in cash, I’m orderin’ a pizza.

LARRY (handing over money): How much then?

MOTEL CLERK  (tapping numbers into calculator) : Let’s see — 84.50. 78 bucks for me, 6.50 for Madison.

LARRY hands the MOTEL CLERK two fifties, waits while the CLERK makes change, then takes change and key from the clerk, heads toward the door.

MOTEL CLERK CON’T : So that’s number 6, second one from the end, and before ya even ask, yes, everything’s all cleaned and laundered an’ all that. Should be a couple sets a’ towels in there. Iron and board if ya need it.

LARRY : Thanks.



Larry arm-hauls his belongings into the room, tosses them on the bed, checks his watch.

LARRY (to himself) : ‘Bout an hour —

LARRY proceeds to unlock the ironing board from the wall apparatus it’s secured in, sets it up, then walks a short distance into the bathroom and starts the bathroom sink slowly. The water runs brown for minute.

LARRY (to himself) CON’T: Figures.

The water begins to run clear and Larry positions the iron right underneath it to fill it up. He turns off the sink, wipes off the excess water that’s run down the surface of the iron with his shirt-sleeve. He whistles as he plugs in the iron.



Larry, still whistling and now with a freshly-ironed shirt and tie , jingles his car keys in his hand, tosses them aimlessly into the air before catching them, unlocks his car, gets inside, starts the engine, rolls the window halfway down, lights a cigarette, takes a quick drag, and pulls out of the lot.

Entire contents trademarked TM and copyrighted (c) by Ryan Carey, 2013. That means if you want to reproduce or use this material in any form, you have to ask me real nice.

“Larry, June, And The Year Of The Cat”


Simple black-and-white credits run, without music, as various sounds of the day abruptly chime in approximately halfway through. First we hear distant birdsong, quickly overlapped with the sound of a car engine shutting off, followed by the rustle of a cigarette pack opening, finally we hear a lighter flick on and then a long, slow, heavy inhale and exhale.




Straight-on, driver’s-side window view of LARRY PRITCHARD, mid-50s, slightly unkempt, smoking a cigarette with the window halfway rolled down. He’s apparently parked in back by a loading dock mid-to-late morning, as two men haul a refrigerator in the background. He turns on the radio and aimlessly works his way up and down the dial for a minute or so, settling on nothing, before shutting it back off again. He continues to smoke, ashing out the open window, and checks his watch.

LARRY (to himself):

Fucker said 9:30.

Another few seconds pass, until we hear:

MAN (in medium distance):

Hey — hey! You Larry?

LARRY sticks head outside window


Hey, yeah, that’s me — what’s up?


Joe says come on in. He’s just gonna be a few.



A burly Latino man in his 20s , the voice from a moment ago, leads Larry towards an office, walking a few steps ahead of him.  They make small talk as they proceed down the short hallway.


Gonna probably be a hot one today. Sorta feel it already, ya know?

How long you been working for Joe?


Since yesterday. And should be done tomorrow, maybe Monday.


You clearing out that apartment thing he bought?


Yeah, junkin’ most of it, haulin’ the decent stuff back here to the storage locker.

Cool. Take it easy out there.

MAN (chuckling):

Ha! You know it, homes. Anyway, here’s your stop. See you later, man.

The MAN raps his knuckles on the office door, even though it’s open.

MAN (to person inside):

Here you go, boss.


A rather standard-looking, industrial-park-type office space, with the requisite desk, filing cabinet, and computer, not much else. JOE, an early-60s man sits behind the desk, wrapping up a phone call.


Thanks, Ike.

(Now speaking into phone)


Okay, honey, I — yeah, don’t worry. It’s all on order. We got that free two-day shipping, so —

(Mouthing words to LARRY)


Just a second.

(Now back to phone)

JOE  (into phone)CON’T:

I’m sure if it doesn’t match we can just —- okay, okay, just let me know, honey. Gotta go for now, Larry just stepped in.


JOE (into phone) CON’T:

Okay, honey, love you too, I’ll call again maybe around lunchtime.

JOE hangs up the phone, begins speaking directly to LARRY.


Whew! You remember how it goes, right? Have a seat, pal, this might take a minute.

LARRY (sitting down in the chair on the other side of the desk):

Take your time, I don’t gotta be there until,what? 7:00?


Yeah, give or take. The gig runs from 8:00 to close, so give yourself whatever extra you need for setting up at a new place.

LARRY( pulling a cigarette pack from his shirt pocket):

Mind if I —-?


Nah, go ahead. Use that pop can.

LARRY lights up and rattles the pop can on the desk momentarily to make sure it’s empty.


Nothing else special I gotta know?

JOE, now standing, rummages through the file cabinet.


Not that I can think of. Just be sure to have the guy sign (pauses, looks at form) — here we go. You know the drill.


They couldn’t find anybody closer, huh?


Guess not. Whatever. The amount they’re shellin’ out for this, it better bring in some business or I’m bettin’ it’s gonna be a one-and-done deal.


Sounds like it to me. Well, a check’s a check. If they wanna be idiots with their money, that’s cool with me.

JOE hands Larry the form and sits back down.


Yup. So — anything else new?


(momentary pause) Shit. Not really. Not that I can think of.


Still working that Thursday thing at The Poodle?


Yeah, in fact, they’re uppin’ it to Tuesdays and Thursdays next month.


Nice! You might be able to retire before you’re 80 yet!


Fuck you, but yeah, it’s all good.


I told you Linda was at the restaurant the other night, right?


No, but I don’t really care (pauses for a drag) —that much.


Heart of fucking stone, huh? Well, she seems to be doing okay. Asked me to say hi to you.


You know the drill. Tell her I said hi back next time she’s in.


Doubt that’ll be anytime too soon. Christ, I hadn’t seen in her in, what? Five, six years?


Consider yourself lucky.


C’mon man — she wasn’t that bad. Don’t think she ever missed a day when she was workin’ for me. Probably one of the best closers we ever had. She definitely knew how to clean up, lock up, and get the fuck out of there. Place always looked great in the morning.


We’ve all got our skills.

JOE (chuckling):

Well, anyway, sorry — didn’t know it was still a sore subject.


No, no — it shouldn’t be. Probably usually isn’t. Think I’m just in a mood today.


Well, it’s a mood you better shake, old-timer! You got a bar full a’ drunks to entertain tonight — Wisconsin drunks, at that!

LARRY (taking a last drag and putting his cigarette out in the can) :

Give it my best. Give it my best.


Hey, you always do, right? Anyway, I’ll have Ike help you haul all the shit into your car and you got good directions, right?

The two men stand up and head toward the office door, their backs now facing the camera, as the conversation winds down.


Mapquest has it all laid out for me.


Mapquest? Shit, you’ll be lucky not to end up in the middle of Lake fucking Superior. Try Google maps, that always works better for me.


Six of one.

JOE(semi-gregarious laughter, patting Larry on the back) :

Ha! Probably so. Just don’t call me cryin’ if you get your ass lost.