T-BOY, URBAN STREET POET
(SKETCH 1)
1. INT. JOBCENTRE. DAY.
A JOBCENTRE RESTART OFFICER SITS AT HIS DESK.
RESTART OFFICER:
Next please.
BARRY SAUNTERS OVER. HE'S DRESSED IN HIP-HOP STYLE CLOTHES, FAUX GOLD CHAINS, HUGE BAGGY JEANS, SHADES ETC.
DRIPPING WITH ATTITUDE, HE CHUCKS HIS JOBSEEKER'S CARD ON THE DESK AND STANDS THERE, ARMS CROSSED, HANGING TOUGH.
RESTART OFFICER:
Take a seat Mr…(CHECKS CARD)…Turner. Barry Turner is it?
BARRY TURNER:
They call me the T-Boy.
RESTART OFFICER:
Right…T-Boy. Take a seat.
HE SITS.
RESTART OFFICER:
(READING FROM COMPUTER) Okaaay…so it says here that you've been unemployed for…five years. What sort of work is it you're looking for?
BARRY TURNER:
I'm an urban street poet, innit. Words is my work. If rhyme's a crime I'll do the time y'nattamean?
RESTART OFFICER:
(PAUSE) Yes…erm, we don't really have anything in street poetry. McDonalds are hiring, if you'd like an application…
BARRY TURNER:
Forget that shit man. I don't flip burgers, I flip words, with me tongue. Words that're yummy but not for your tummy, for your ears, y'nattamean? I'm bringing down da system with my wisdom, destroying da man with my plan, y'get me?
RESTART OFFICER:
Right…go on then.
BARRY TURNER:
What?
RESTART OFFICER:
Do some street poetry. Maybe if I hear what you've got to offer I can find something suitable for you.
BARRY TURNER:
Nah man, it's too much for someone like you. It'd melt your brain.
ANOTHER JOBSEEKER APPROACHES.
JOBSEEKER 1:
No, go on mate. You stick it to him.
ANOTHER JOBSEEKER AGREES.
JOBSEEKER 2:
Yeah, go on. We want to hear your stuff, don't we?
EVERYONE AGREES…SOME EVEN CLAP. BARRY STANDS UP. HE GETS A PIECE OF PAPER OUT.
BARRY TURNER:
Right then. Check dis shit my brethren. (BEGINS TO READ FROM PAPER)
My friend Billy had a ten foot willy,
And he showed it to the woman next door.
She thought it was a snake, so she hit it with a rake,
And now it's only five foot four.
HE LOOKS UP TO SEE EVERYONE STARING AT HIM, OPEN-MOUTHED.
BARRY TURNER:
It's a work in progress.
EMD SKETCH 1