house.
Hey, Ive been thinking...
When I get paid for this job I done,
maybe I could fix the place up.
- You could sell it the way it is
- I mean fix it up and live here.
A guy like you,
used to living in the city?
Theres no life for you here.
I could always be a friendly Indian,
like you. Maybe even a guide.
- You wouldnt like it.
- Why not, you do?
Come on. You telling
me I cant live here?
Hey!
vinyl RECORD revolves in close up. An exuberant and
mysterious VOICE is scat singing. Wild. Then the sound slides
into a raucous big band jazz number: Dizzy Gillespies The
Champ. A HAND ejects the record. When the camera finds the
mans face it is BLINDFOLDED. Hes hot. Hes wearing an
undershirt. Hes trying to identify the recording.
RIPLEY (O/S)
I dont know. Count Basie? Duke
Ellington. I dont kno
vinyls are made the same way as pancakes,
and the neighbours wife, who has been in a coma for months,
just decided to do all her sleeping at once.
-This way, Ill stay awake night and day for the rest of my life.
-Amlies only friend is called "the Cachalot".
But the atmosphere at home turned it into a neurasthenic and suicidal fish.
-Since these suicide-attempts only increased her mothers stress
house?
And who are you?
No one. I just live here.
Come on in.
Nice place.
Thanks. We try.
- Youre not old enough to be Bobby.
- Thats because Im Lawson.
Okay.
Im sorry about your mother.
You look a lot like her.
Sorry to wake you so early. Its barely noon.
Bobby. We got company, man. Wake up!
Honey, put your bags down. We dont bite.
- Juice?
- No.
- Bobby, get up. Shes here.
- Who?
- Pursey.
- Wh