Stagecoach

A turquoise Prius shuttles along the single lane paved road through the desert. Jack hangs his right arm out the open window, taking in the breeze and gazing at the cacti and sage now in motion.

TERRY: A Godsend! You are lucky the snakes didn’t take you there, buddy boy. What are you and your missus doing out here, if you don’t mind me asking?

JACK: We’re not married. Just a friend at this point. We uh.. we’re on a roadtrip, she’s visiting her folks, and doing a little location scouting.

TERRY: You don’t say! You a movie producer?

JACK: [wanly smiles] Heh. No. I do carpentry, sets, grip work, that sort of thing. She does costume design. But we’ve worked with the same people for years. I do a bit of writing as well and–

TERRY: Oh boy! You know my cousin used to live out in Hollywood. Was in that picture, the one with the dog, and the fallout shelter?

JACK: Okay.

He looks to the horizon.

TERRY: Yeah Matt Cameron. That’s my name too. Terry Cameron, esquire!

JACK: Uh alright. Hey about how far is the road? Hard to recognize the desert I just walked through.

TERRY: Actually right up there, see? She can’t be more than a mile past that crest, towards the old mine entrance.

JACK. Okay…

TERRY: So you work on any movies I would’ve seen?

JACK: Uh..

TERRY: Oh look, that’s gotta be your car? And there’s your girlfriend, am I right?

JACK: Yeah. That’s her.

TERRY: She must be worried sick!

JACK: I don’t know about that.

Cut to Krystall turning her head around and snapping awake as we hear wheels slowing on sand.

KRYSTALL: Oh thank you Jesus.

The sun sets on another beautiful scene, the first light stars visible in the hazy peach blue of the evening. Just in the nick of time.