1. INT: NIGHT - SHOOTING GALLERY: MANHATTAN:
Nodding out. A dozen dormant bodies, in
various postures. One junkie stands, bent over backwards and
to the side at an angle that would seem impossible to maintain.
Yet he does not fall. Most others are strewn about the floor,
sitting or lying down. The place is dark, lit only by candles
and a standing lamp, its shade draped with a colourful scarf.
The walls and ceiling are nearly invisible, subsumed in shadow.
A woman softly LAUGHS. At first, we cannot
determine which body belongs to her.
- Exploring the junkiescape of bodies, we discover GIA, a young
woman. She is seated in the corner, LAUGHING to herself. Her
heavy-lidded eyes are open, as if at half-mast. She is very beautiful,
So much so that in the darkness, her pallid face seems to glow.
But something's wrong. GIA is the major player in a tragedy.
She is dying, and knows it.
A SURLY JUNKIE, sitting a few metres away,
mumbles from the shadows.
GIA suddenly snaps to. Leaps up to a squatting
position, pulls a SWITCHBLADE out of her back pocket. Waves it
demonstratively in the SURLY JUNKIE'S direction.
I'm not talking to you.
GIA looks at us now, dead on into the camera.
Sorry for the interruption. These fuckers
can be very rude. Where were we?
No response. SURLY JUNKIE peers into the
darkness, toward us. He doesn't see anyone. GIA isn't speaking
to anyone in particular. Yet she isn't "loony". She
is just speaking because she wants to. Or maybe SURLY JUNKIE
is wrong. Maybe someone is there. At any rate, we are.
GIA suddenly flashes a smile that is all
loveliness. And she knows it.
It was all worth it, you know.
[Implied: "What was"?]
Everything. And I own it all. It's all
mine. My choices. I learned that long ago. I'm responsible for
everything. The joy and the pain. "Responsible." My
agent once said I didn't know the meaning of the word... But
they're the kind of motherfuckers who wake up the morning after
a one night stand and just 'cause they didn't cum, they accuse
the other guy of rape. Or they do a photo shoot, and when they
look at the pictures, they see there's no soul in their eyes.
So they blame the photographer. Did you know that after a person
dies, their body weighs a little bit less? Just a few grams.
But the point is that something was there when the body was alive.
Now, after death, it's gone away. Not to Heaven or Hell, 'cause
we've got them on Earth. But to some other place. And that makes
me glad. Not only because it kind of proves we've got a soul,
and that's nice, 'cause I'm dying. But because that kind of stuff
makes the idiots worry. It ticks them off. They don't understand
In the background, CLINKING, TAPPING noises
indicate that a JUNKIE is fixing his dose. A SECOND JUNKIE begs
him for some dope. FIRST JUNKIE ignores his pleas.
Just give me half of your bag. Please.
You know how many times I fuckin' took care of your ass, when
you were pukin' and shittin'. Come on, man, just give me a taste.
Just give me something...
FIRST JUNKIE says nothing, but gives his
colleague a very small amount of DRUG, tapping it out of the
Oh, thank you, thank you, thank -
GIA silences him with a look. It's clear
she commands respect here.
Do you think I'm still beautiful?
I never was pretty though, was I. I remember
once they tried to put me in some kind of frilly little thing,
covered with tiny pink flowers. It made me look like I was about
to drop dead.
(laughs to herself)
You know, I bet that someday, the modeling
industry will decide that the junkie look is "in."
There will be enormous billboards in Times Square, showing skinny,
heavy-lidded boys and girls, their arms discretely scarred...
The business will steal anything, then remake it as their own.
They'll wring the truth out of it, first, of course. And then,
when the lie goes out into the world, they'll hide behind your
face. In high school, I thought I was making my own fashion -
in platforms and neon glam... But then again, where did I get
that stuff, the glam shit, and all? I got it from fashion magazines...
No, way back then, when I was falling in
love with a woman for the first time, listening to Bowie and
all the rest of those motherfuckers and growing up up up - I
didn't really think I'd end up dying before I turned thirty.
And I didn't think I'd be a junkie. Or a model.
But I've had a pretty good time. I just
wish I'd - I wish I could have been happy...
GIA leans back, closes her eyes. Perhaps
dreaming of that happiness.