Fade In…

INT. THE LOBBY OF THE SUPER 8 MOTEL, HOLLYWOOD - DAY

Two friends , PAUL and MICHELLE, are at the check in desk. A LATINO MAN is searching for their reservation on an antiquated desktop computer while also watching an old Western movie on a battered TV. On the check in desk a sign reads ‘no wireless still - hope fixed soon’.

Don’t worry about it. Do you have any idea when
it might be fixed?

Hope fixed soon. Maybe tomorrow.

Mañana.

Si Señor.

CUT TO…

INT. THE LOBBY OF THE SUPER 8 MOTEL, HOLLYWOOD - DAY
The following day. The scene is exactly the same as before, even down to the old Western playing on the battered TV.

I’m sorry Sir, maybe tomorrow.

(Punches LATINO MAN in the face)

Cut to…

OPENING CREDITS:
A montage of scenes from a road trip:

PAUL, MICHELLE and another friend MICHAEL check out of their hotel rooms in Las Vegas.

A rented black convertible Mustang tears along a desert road. PAUL is driving, MICHAEL is in the passenger seat while MICHELLE sleeps on the back seat, a ridiculous grin on her face. For some reason.

PAUL, MICHELLE and MICHAEL eat breakfast in an IHOP restaurant on I15.

MICHAEL leaves car and walks into his luxury hotel in downtown LA.

PAUL and MICHELLE check in to the Super 8 Motel in Hollywood. The Hollywood sign can be seen in the distance.

INT. STARBUCKS, HOLLYWOOD - DAY
PAUL and MICHELLE are hunched over laptops, catching up with work and eating yoghurt and sandwiches. We see the action unfold through Paul’s eyes.

I think I’m going to write today’s blog post in the form
of a screenplay.

Won’t that be enormously pretentious and hard to
read?

Almost certainly, but we’re in Hollywood now and
everybody here is obsessed with fucking movies. It
seems fitting, somehow.

Not everyone, babe.

Fucking everyone. Last night I had dinner with
Philippa who is in town for meetings about the
screenplay she’s just sold to Fox. The entire
table was writers. You can always tell when
you’re having dinner with writers because it
takes longer to calculate splitting the bill than it
does to actually eat the food.

And then the cabdriver I had the night before on
my way to meet Michael couldn’t stop talking
about the writers’ strike - and have you seen the
women? It’s like a fucking outdoor casting session.
Every one of them ready for their close up.

Still, the weather is amazing. I can’t believe how
sunny it is here.

We suddenly switch to MICHELLE’s P.O.V and discover that PAUL’s face is as red as a vine-ripened tomato.

Unbelievable.

Fuck off, I’m blogging.

Well make it short, but don’t forget to mention
the fact that we spent the day in Santa Monica
yesterday.

On the pier, eating at the Bubba Gump Shrimp
Company. My Bloody Mary had a shrimp in it.

I know, I was there.

Yeah, but it’s really hard writing logical
dialogue when you’re trying to write a blog post
in the form of a screenplay.

You’re regretting it now, aren’t you –
decision-wise?

I really am.

Why don’t you stop, then? We’ll do some laundry
and then head over to Hollywood Boulevard for
lunch.

Good thinking.

They are interrupted by a STUNNING BLONDE.

Your face looks ridiculous. Like some kind of tomato.

You say tomato...

Ohmigod, are you from London…? I love your
accent.

I know. Everyone does. I fucking love this town.

CREDITS