FIlm Script for Martins Bargains

The first thing Calvin Reed noticed about Martin's Bargains was that it was open, which at one forty-three in the morning seemed less like good customer service and more like evidence. Pensacola had gone quiet in that uneven way cities sometimes do after midnight, with long stretches of darkness interrupted by gas stations, convenience stores, red traffic lights nobody respected, and the occasional vehicle moving too fast for no apparent reason. Calvin had been driving without much of a plan, which was how most of his financial decisions had begun lately, when he saw the pawn shop glowing on the east side of town beneath a tired neon sign that buzzed like an insect with a criminal record.

MARTIN'S BARGAINS, the sign said.

The B was not fully illuminated, so from across the street it appeared to read MARTIN'S ARGAINS, which Calvin thought sounded somehow more honest.

He pulled into the cracked parking lot and shut off the engine. His truck continued making small metallic noises after he removed the key, as if trying to compose its final statement. The gas gauge sat below empty in a region the manufacturer had probably not intended anyone to explore, his cell phone battery showed three percent, and he had eight dollars and nineteen cents to his name. He needed fifty dollars before morning. Not forty. Not thirty-five. Fifty.