11-14-8 6 PM at the rip-off Italian place across the street from Staples
(Scrawled on my notes from my second attempt at the scene-writing contest. I adapted the Gone Postal idea to the premise, just as I’d adapted The Cat idea to the first session.)
So, I wrote this shit in black (referring to the aforementioned notes) for the second screen-writing competition, not knowing I could have picked up my first one. After I go through the angst of writing another one, they tell me I can pick up the first which got a 92. I was already IN the semifinals.
I think the second one was pretty good, too.
I asked the woman what would happen if I got two, thinking maybe I could try to do two in the next round, but she didn’t quite get me. I was too happy to stick around and try to explain.
Sam Adams Sad Adams, Martin Frick, funny.
Whose a guy gotta fuck to get a beer in this place? Amateurs.
I can’t believe I spent $35 here last night for a beer a glass of jug wine and leftover gnocchi. The only thing worse is coming back. Fuck, N-EL.
Two lesbians sat down next to me and I think the far one thought I was trying to pick up on her girlfriend. She was from Ohio, going to the Laker game, apparently they’re 7-0, don’t know who won last night.