Hey, this is Mack, back with another episode of
Write is Wrong, written by me and my good buddy
Bob. Let's fire it up. Chapter 5. The Pitch At
the Whiskey -A -Go -Go that night, Bob and Jake
stood in the balcony overlooking the stage where
a band was performing. The noise level made conversation
nearly impossible, so they retreated to a photo
booth in the corner. I'm hoping it's a little
quieter in here, Bob said as they closed the
curtain. What about the men's room? Jake suggested.
Think about what you're saying. Oh, right. The
blinding stench. This isn't so bad now, is it?
Bob said. It's kind of romantic, actually. Jake
answered. Bob fed dollar bills into the photo
booth machine, and they struck poses as the camera
flashed, their conversation punctuated by the
mechanical countdown and bright lights. So what
were you saying out there? Jake asked between
poses. I got an idea for a project, Bob explained
as they made serious faces for the camera. What's
the idea? Jake asked, throwing up the devil horns
for a second shot. After the camera goes off,
Bob tries to speak. It's about... Hang on. They
posed with their middle fingers up for the third
shot. I'll tell you later, said Bob. As they
posed for the final shot, Jake leaned over and
kissed Bob on the cheek, causing Bob to look
shocked in the photo. Asshole. Bob laughed as
they collected their photos. Later, at the Rainbow
Bar and Grill next door, they continued their
discussion over pizza and beer. The walls were
covered with rock memorabilia, including a framed
photo of Tony Iommi from Black Sabbath that seemed
to watch over their conversation. I've always
said the food here is underrated, Jake observed.
Totally, said Bob. Think we'll see Chuck Zito
here tonight? Jake asked, nodding toward a table
with a reserved for Mr. Zito sign. Maybe. His
name's on the table over there. And his name's
there every night. True. Maybe we'll see the
ghost of Lemmy, Jake suggested. He'll have to
settle for a statue of Lemmy by the bar. I think
Lemmy's mole should have its own statue, Jake
said. They both laughed as they ate their pizza
and drank their beer, the conversation flowing
more easily in the familiar surroundings. Dude,
can we get back to my idea? Bob asked. Absolutely.
A screenplay, right? Yeah, it's about a guy that
makes a living sitting with lonely old people
as they die. Oh, I like that, Jake said. What's
it called? Deathbed Dave. Great title. How much
do you have written? None, said Bob. Well, what
the hell are you waiting for? It just came to
me a couple weeks ago, but I think I'm on to
something great. I'm assuming there's a love
interest and perhaps a moral conundrum, Jake
said. Yep. and that's where I need your help.
Okay, what's Dave's character arc? Definitely
a flawed guy. One of the dying old folks he's
spending time with offers him a large sum of
stolen money. Why Dave? asked Jake. Why doesn't
the old guy give it to his family? He doesn't
have any family, Bob said. Which is why he hired
Dave in the first place, right? Correct, said
Bob. Why doesn't he donate it? Jake asked. It's
stolen money. He doesn't want the risk. Bob said.
Right, and then Dave can choose to accept the
money or not. Yeah, and then choose whether to
do good or bad with it. Dark night of the soul,
Jake said. I'm telling you, man, I've never been
this excited about an idea. I never believed
in anything like this before. What about the
love interest? Jake asked. She's pure. She's
good. She works as a fertility doctor. She helps
bring people into the world. Jake finishes for
him. And Dave helps them on their way out. Exactly.
I really like this dude. It's perfect for our
streaming network. That's what I was thinking,
said Bob. Jake looked at his watch. Shit, dude,
we gotta roll. Eric's on in ten minutes. As they
prepared to leave, Bob asked a question that
would change everything. So, you in? With my
idea? I'm in, Jake said. Let's do it together.
You and me. This is our shot. We rise and fall
together, said Bob. The way it's always been,
said Jake. Back at the whiskey, Eric took the
stage with his band and began singing the Foo
Fighters' All My Life. The lyrics seemed to speak
directly to their situation. All my life I've
been searching for something. Something never
comes, never leads to nothing. As the music washed
over them, Bob and Jake pumped their fists in
the air and headbanged along. feeling for the
first time in years that they might actually
be on the verge of something big. Alright, thanks
for listening to this episode of Write is Wrong.
Be sure to check back soon for another new episode.
Peace!