Screenplays:

Stephanie is on the phone by her apartment window. Even shrouded in shadow we can tell she is shaking. A WINDOW CRACKED SLIGHTLY OPEN seems to STEAM as the indoor warmth leaks out.

Stephanie doesn't speak for a long while. Her shadow twists, then there's a spark. Flame illuminates her face for a moment. She has lit a stick of incense.

INTERCUT WITH:

We hear Anthony and Steph keep talking off screen, Anthony almost consoling and Stephanie endlessly repeating. We follow a JEEP WAGONEER along an empty-looking highway as the vehicle pulls into a

gas station.

Anthony, mid-20s in a brand name jacket and too-nice jeans, begins to pump gas before walking

inside the building.

He draws THREE HUNDRED IN CASH from an ATM just inside the door. At the counter he pays for the gas and puts the rest on a PREPAID VISA CARD.

He walks back out, re-enters the vehicle and we follow again as he moves across the street, parking in front of a

where he again exits the vehicle.

We approach, again at eye-level as he ranges the aisles and by the time he approaches the cash register we are almost breathing on the store window.

He pours several items onto the counter:
- a USED/NEW VIDEO GAME,
- TWO BLU-RAY MOVIES,
- and an assortment of SNACKS,
                       TRAIL MIX, and
               CHEESE.

From a display next to the register he grabs one other item; a cassette-to-1.5mm-audio ADAPTER goes on the card before he walks out the door.

Anthony sits behind he wheel of his Jeep, talking into the phone.

The incense smoke wafts up it like a reverse waterfall, mixing with the air at the top where the window is just open.

Inside,

a gym bag sits unzipped on a large bed, several jackets hang on a wall, and a small pile of dress shoes and heels is piled outside a closet that obviously hasn't been opened in a while.

Despite the unkempt look, the room is sparsely furnished and even less decorated. Candles, incense, rent envelopes and a few phone cords poke out of corners and cover what counterspace exists.

Anthony drives with a headphone in one ear, he is on the phone. His lips line up with the voice on the phone.

The phone clicks off as the vehicle pulls up outside

When he arrives there are no words. She is standing outside her apartment, a LIT CIGARETTE in an unsteady hand. She flicks it – a nervous tic – the ashless tip leaving a trail of light.

A flash of recognition and an inscrutable look (gratitude?) flashes across her face; then it is gone again – her BROWN EYES dark as the night sky is blue.

CLOSE ON:

She has been crying, but now sits looking out the
window of the Jeep Wagoneer. The night's NEAR
FREEZING CHILL had made every SHAKY BREATH
painfully visible. But now, as the HEATER warms
her skin and her soul, she breathes more deeply
and fewer tears fall. She shakes less.

South he drives, then West, and Little Rock is
nearing as the sun comes up.

She is asleep for most of the drive, though her
mind is alert and her eyes sometimes open.

Once, the car stops and he returns with two
GROCERY SACKS of food.

At a second stop, he moves it to the trunk, and pulls out a SMALL PILE OF BOOKS and A BLANKET from the trunk. A bag of clothes in her size, some her own, is on the floor in the back seat.

She wakes up at the third stop. Half-way to Dallas, on the side of the highway, nothing in sight save a cluster of BARNS and the evening sun.

He is asleep, curled in a ball, in the back seat. His JACKET covers one arm and his chest. She touches his EXPOSED arm and hand, he is cold. She places her own blanket over him tucking the frigid limb well beneath the comforter.

A POST-IT NOTE taped to the dash reads "FOLLOW SIGNS FOR OKLAHOMA CITY". Taking the driver's seat she takes a deep breath.

INSERT: She pushes the CASSETTE into the TAPE DECK.

Courtney Barnett's "Avant Gardener" begins to play as the vehicle hums to life.

CUT TO BLACK

CREDITS ROLL.