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INT. JACK’S BEDROOM – NIGHT
Jack lies in bed, staring at the ceiling.
For six months. I could not sleep.
INT. COPY ROOM – DAY
Jack, sleepy, stands over a copy machine. His Starbucks cup
sits on the lid, moving back and forth as the machine copies.
With insomnia, nothing is real. Everything is far away. Everything is a copy of a copy of a copy.
Other people make copies, all with Starbucks cups, sipping.
Jack picks up his cup and his copies and leaves.
INT. JACK’S OFFICE – SAME
Jack, sipping, stares blankly at a Starbucks bag on the
floor, full of newspapers and FAST FOOD GARBAGE.
When deep space exploration ramps up,
it will be corporations that name
everything. The IBM Stellar Sphere.
The Philip Morris Galaxy. Planet Starbucks.
Jack, in pajamas, stares at Home Shopping Network on his TV.
When you have insomnia, you’re never
really asleep and you’re never really
awake. I hadn’t slept in four days…