(NOTE: This is a really weird concept I came up with. Let's see if it works.)
INT. WAREHOUSE - DAY [12:00]
A SMALL ARFICAN MAN WITH A CLIPBOARD IS TENDING TO THE VARIOUS CRATES AROUND THE WAREHOUSE. A ‘PHIL MITCHELL’ LIKE COCKNEY BURSTS IN THROUGH THE DOOR.
COCKNEY:
(AGGRESSIVELY) Oi, Baa Baa Black Sheep. Have you any wool?
BBBS TURNS TO THE COCKNEY AND LOOKS SCARED.
BBBS:
(INTIMIDATED) Yes sir, yes sir. Three bags full.
THE COCKNEY STEPS FORWARD AND GRABS BBBS BY THE COLLOR OF HIS SHIRT AND SLAMS HIM INTO THE WALL LIFTING HIM PARTIALLY OFF THE GROUND.
COCKNEY:
(MENACINGLY) Are you lying to me son?
BBBS:
(SCARED) No, no. One for the master. One for the (COCKNEY LIFTS HIM FURTHER OFF THE GROUND) ARGH! Dame. And one for the little boy that (COCKNEY STARTS TO LOWER HIM) lives down (BBBS NOW ON GROUND) the lane.
COCKENY SEEMS AS IF HE IS TURNED AWAY BUT SUDDENLY GRABS BBBS BY THE THROAT.
COCKNEY:
(AGGRESSIVELY) You sell wool to little children. (GETS IN HIS FACE) What kind of pervert are you?
BBBS:
(SCARED) It’s for his father. HIS FATHER!
COCKNEY RELEASES BBBS AND DUSTS HIMSELF OFF.
COCKNEY:
Alright then. But I’m going to be checking into that. I’ll be back. Have my wool ready tomorrow. (TURNING AND LEAVING) Bye bye, Black Sheep.
BBBS LETS OUT A SIGH OF RELIEF.
[b][u][END][b][u]