MARK- Walking down 42nd St, his camera in his right hand, hanging to his side. He brings the camera to his left eye and looks through the viewfinder. Camera switches from profile of Mark to what he sees through the viewfinder. (A family, huddled close together to keep themselves warm as they wait outside a coffee shop for another relative.)

MARK- sighing as he pulls back from the camera, letting his arm yet again hand loose to his side.

MARK-

I walk a path unknown to anyone but me.

I tread this path alone.

My camera always in my hand; my eye always glancing through the viewfinder.

Everything passes me in slow motion, It's as if time stalls when I'm around.

Everything passes me by

Nothing makes sense when you're alone in a world where ice caps knock at your door. Nothing!

And I'm alone.

Through this song, the camera is kept on Mark, who at the end of the 2nd line has begun to walk forward. At the 3rd line, Mark, after winding the camera, brings it to his right eye. The camera then changes to a view of the family walking away in slow motion, holding each other close. At line 5, we resume the camera angle of Mark's profile, his camera yet again to his side.

MARK-

No one understands my inner pain.

No one understands that I can't gain...the little things, the little things...the things I need to survive!

What's needed to survive! At this point, Mark throws his hands to the side; his camera flies off his hand and into alleyway 9.

MARK- "Oh, shit!" Running over to alleway Camera view is back view until Mark squats and takes the camera into his hands. It becomes over the shoulder as Mark begins to examine the camera, accessing the damages. Camera view changes to back view over Mark's shoulder as he lifts his neck and looks forward as the character Roger, with his guitar bag on his left shoulder, walks out of the shadows, his blonde Billy Idol hair shining in the one streetlight.

MARK- Seeming to be taken by Roger's presence, falters as he stands, tucking his camera into his shoulder bag, which lie at his left side.

Camera View switches to behind Mark, who is now standing upright. The camera zooms in on what Mark sees as a poster on the alleyway building across from him offering Open Mic Night at the 42nd St. Pub. As Mark walks forward, Camera View stays over should. As Mark silently reads the poster, his Voice Over is heard reading it aloud.

V-O (MARK)- "On this night of December 25, 1980, Christmas, 42nd Street Pub will hold it's first and only Open-Mic Night. We will be holding a contest for Overall Best Performance. The winner, whether they be a musician, a poet, or a beat-nikker, will recieve 100$ cash on spot. Everyone with talent, known or otherwise, is invited. The fun begins at 7:30 p.m."

Pan to Mark, who looks at his watch and then smiles brightly. Camera View circles around Mark, ending zoomed in at his glinting eyes. Camera View zooms out slowly as the song begins. When the song is complete, we will be Camera View of Mark's full stature.

MARK-

My lonliness cured by the fruits of labor.

A chance to survive in this world where money is everything, and without it, you die.

Without it you, die. You strive to simply survive!

A hundred dollars little but rare...no longer alone!

MARK- Turning back and skipping to the end of the alleyway, turning right.

Camera View picks up on Mark, over the shoulder, as he pushes open the door to the Pub.

MARK- Proceeding to a table in the far corner, pushing his way through musicians and other contestants, saying the occasional and shy, "Excuse Me.". Among the group, Mark's eyes come in contact with Roger's, who smiles at him as if they saw, or let alone knew each other, on a daily basis.)

ROGER-Camera view is Mark's point of view Motioning with his right hand as a signal to join him at his table in the last chair that sits across from the Punk Rocker.

MARK- Pointing at himself in confusion and getting a nod from Roger, glides over to the table, sliding in across from Roger. This is where two camera angles will be used. As Mark speaks, it's over his shoulder on Roger. As Roger speaks, it's over his shoulder on Mark. Lots of cutting. But not dizzying cutting.

ROGER- "Mark Cohen, right?" Narrowing his eyes as he speaks.

MARK- Raising his left eyebrow in confusion and surprise.

ROGER- chuckling. "I saw a documentary of yours. At the Book Club. Last Week. (Spoken in fragments on account of Roger is currently going through a two day withdrawal. He tries not to show it, but his eyes don't lie, and his face has glimpses of sweat on his forehead and cheeks.)

MARK- nervously wringing his hands together underneath the table. "Oh, the one about the poor musician?" (Spoken a la "Rent" when Mark speaks, "Oh, the girl from the Catscratch club?")

ROGER- nodding. pauses and brings a napkin to his forehead, swiping it across. "I really enjoyed it. It felt like home." smiling shyly.

MARK- smiling bashfully. (A la "Rent" when Maureen kisses him in the Life Cafe)

ROGER- Holding out his hand. "I'm Roger."

MARK- Takes hand and gently shakes it. "Didn't I see you in Alleyway 9?"

ROGER- casts his eyes to the floor and then back at Mark. "Yes, you did. I saw that you dropped your camera, but I was in a hurry, and it seemed you had your matters together." (Said almost apologetically. Almost.)

MARK- Beginning to say something, but is interrupted by a waiter handing him and Roger a number for the contest.

WAITER- "When your number is called, your talent is set loose." winking and heading off to the next table.

MARK- looking at his number. "One? Fuck." glancing at Roger and biting his lower lip. "Sorry."

ROGER- laughing. "Well, better you than I. I've got fifteen. That means sitting through a lot of...pausing...best way to put this? Amateurs."

MARK- slightly laughing. "Is that your guitar?" notioning towards the guitar case beside Roger's chair.

ROGER- nodding and patting the bag with his right hand. "She's my baby."

MARK- "I don't even know why I'm here. I don't have anything prepared. Just bits and pieces of my usual crap."

ROGER- "If your scraps are anything like your documentary, I'm sure you'll do fine."

MARK- "I do hope so. I just hope I don't get up there and start rambling. I'm known to do that. nervously laughing as his number is called.

Camera View switches to behind the microphone on the small but sturdy stage as Mark stands, grabs his shoulder bag, and 'sort of' rushes to the stage. When he takes the stage, the camera angle is that of his eyes. What he sees, we see.

MARK- pulling his camera out of his bag, setting the bag to the side. "Do we have a projector here? I have the film reel. Obviously."

MARK- pulling back as a Maitre'D came to the stage and quickly set up a small projector, grabbing the camera from Mark's hands and roughly pulling out the film reel. "HEY!" (Said loudly and exclamitory.)

(Maitre'D only glances at Mark as he sets up the reel, jumping off the stage once all is set up.)

Camera Angle stays on Mark as he lets the Projector slide through his clips)

MARK- "Mark Cohen. I don't have much. Scraps. I work mostly with the homeless. Those without money." (Said as clips of a homeless family is shown swinging on a swingset in Times Square.) "The good..." (Said as the mother of the family is tackled by her son.) "And the bad." (Said as the family is escorted out of the park by a cop brigade. The clips end on a two second shot of a ritzy family.)

(The reel ends and Mark, with the camera angle yet again through his eyes, faces the crowd, which is silent)

MARK- frowning and biting his lower lip as he ejects the reel from the projector. Looking over to Roger, who has begun to applaude, and soon after, the whole room is applauding.

MARK- stepping off the stage a bright smile on his face as he sits back across from Roger, ducking his head to whisper to the rocker. "Did I do something right for a change?"

ROGER- as the applause settles down for the next contestant, a poet with a darker side. Reaching out to pat Mark on the shoulder. "I believe so, mate."

MARK- Nodding and laughing aloud, shocked at his success.

ROGER- Glancing around reaches into his pocket and pulls out his stash, holding it at the edge of the table, hoping Mark can't see it. "Could you...come get me when I'm called?" (Said to Mark. The camera angle zooms in, over Mark's shoulder, to the stash, and then quickly changes to over Roger's shoulder.)

MARK- Gleaming with worry. "Sure, sure." Cocking his head to the side as Roger slides out of his chair and disappears out the back door.

(As the next performer, a street mime, comes to the stage, Mark grabs his camera and follows Roger out the door, treading on his feet softly, not wanting it to be known that Roger was being followed.)

Camera angle is coming from the back door, focused on Roger, who has a joint hanging from his lips whilst sitting on his knees, leaning his forehead agianst the alleyway wall, his right hand to the side, flexing, his left arm to the other side, holding an empty needle.

Camera angle switches to what Mark sees through the camera, which is the needle. Zoom in on that, and then zoom out to reveal Roger is crying.

MARK- Slowly walking over, trying to be as quiet as a mouse.

ROGER- Looking up, eyes widening. Standing and spitting the joint to the side, tucking the needle into his back pocket, blushing "I..." Noticing the camera in Mark's hand, which lowered quickly and steadily as Roger stood. "You recorded that?"

MARK- "I..." Not knowing where to go.

ROGER- Growling low in his throat "The first friend I make in ages, and he turns out to be a fluke. Why does that not surprise me?" Walking forward and literally pushing past Mark

MARK- Following Roger into the Pub sets his camera down on the table as Roger heads to the front exit "Your audtion!"

ROGER- Turning on his feet to face Mark "Fuck the audtion." Pushing open the door and heading out

MARK- Standing in his spot, realizing that the Pub had literally come to a standstill Blushing, fumbling with his words. "I also do soap operas." Quickly goes back to the table to grab his camera and his bag and disappearing out of the Pub.

(Once outside, the Camera Angle is in front of Mark, through Roger's eyes. Roger stands across the street smoking a cigarette.)

MARK- Leaning against the Pub wall.

The Lonliness. It will forever be.

The way I am, the way I am, the way I live. Oblivious to the feelings that my camera doesn't pick up.

It seems to me, it seems to me, that it's only me. Only me.

Poor soul, Poor lonely little me!

ROGER- After taking a drag of the cigarette, Roger tosses it to the side and goes to step off the sidewalk to get to Mark only to find that Mark has quickly come and gone.

ROGER- Beginning to walk along the street, the camera following behind him and then switching to in front to go backwards, Roger following the camera.

ROGER-

This Lonliness. My lonliness. I want to share it with you.

This heartbreak, this sorrow...the feeling of no tomorrow.

I feel the need to sing. I feel the need be.

Lonely, oh so lonely!

Lonely little ol' me!

And I can't be when I'm alone. I can't be when it's just me.

When it's me and my needle, my confusion goes to haste. It disappears, it merely fades.

When it's me and crack. I don't need smack. I don't take shit from anyone because I'm numb...this lonliness, this lonliness, I need to share it with someone. This lonliness, this lonliness, I need to be with you. This lonliness, this lonliness, abstructed by a needle. This lonliness, this lonli-whoa!

(Roger is interrupted by a byciclist who zooms past him, knocking him to the side. Roger trips over his own two feet and knocks into a fruit stand, sending fruit flying as he falls to his knees, weak.)

ROGER- Blushing and going to pick up the fruits only to be yelled at by their tender.

ROGER- Crawling over to the street corner and sitting cross legged.

This lonliness, cured by a needle.

This lonliness, cured by the sight of you.

This lonlinesss...this lonliness.

ROGER- Stretching out his right arm and flexing his fingers as with his left hand he pulls the needle out of his back pocket and rams it into his right arm's vain, wincing quite noticibly.

I need to survive!

ROGER- Passes out from the strength of the 'smack'.

Camera cuts to reveal that night has strewn to day. Cut to Mark walking down 42nd Street, eyes widening as he sees Roger, sprawled out on the corner of 42nd and Elm. Mark rushes over to his side and kneels beside him

MARK- Biting his lower lip. "Roger? ROGER!" (Roger doesn't stir) "Roger." (Said softly) Beginning to shake his right shoulder gently.

ROGER- Blinking a few times before opening his eyes slowly. Camera Angle is what Roger sees through blurry eyes. It switches back to over Mark's shoulder as Roger moves to sit fully "What..."

MARK- Pulling off his coat and wrapping it around Roger's shoulders. "It's nine a.m., Roger. What...you live on the streets?" (Said softly, but in gentle shock)

ROGER- Shrugging off the coat and glaring at Mark. "I live fine in Avenue A. I...don't know why I'm here." Glancing at his right arm where a needle hole is vividly obvious.

MARK- Following Roger's gaze. "Roger."

ROGER- Pushing himself to stand, ignoring Mark's helping hand. "Where's your camera? Wouldn't you want this on film, Mark Cohen the movie producer?" (Said quite sarcastically, and said as if he were drunk, though we know he is quite sober.)

MARK- Wide eyed. "No, Roger. That...I don't...it wasn't for my career."

ROGER- Rolling his eyes as he pushes himself off the wall.

MARK- "I wanted to record...the friendship. I wanted...I shouldn't have. I'm sorry."

ROGER- Beginning to walk away but pauses in midstep and looking around wildy.

MARK- Rushing to Roger's side as he begins to sway, wrapping his arm around Roger's waist. "Where do you live?"

ROGER- Succombing to Mark's aide, leaning on his shoulder. "Avenue A. Apartment B." Blinking as dizziness takes over. Beginning to walk in Mark's pace.

Camera picks up on Mark and Roger as they entered into his apartment. Roger has begun to sweat extrusively. Mark leads him over to the couch and lets him lie down)

MARK- Kneeling beside Roger. "Do you need anything? Water, something to eat?"

ROGER- Reaching out to pat Mark's cheek with his right hand. Breathing deeply "I...thanks."

MARK- Taking Roger's hand in his and squeezing it slightly and then letting it go, standing and shifting his feet awkwardly.

ROGER- "You can go." Coughing

MARK- Crossing his hands over his chest. "You sure you'll be okay?" Frowning.

ROGER- Nodding as he wheezes. "Just go."

MARK- Frowning in confusion heading toward the door, looking back to see Roger's eyes shutting, his breath deepening. Opening the door, Mark pretends to slip out, but doesn't. Instead, he quietly shuts the door and goes to sit at the kitchen table.

Poor soul. His life is his only goal. He has no where to go but here.

Poor child, his lonliness appears. Yet yours fades when he's here!

Dark heart. Hard life. Understanding true loss and strife.

The wrath of the needle seems takes hold, causes great pain. A pain that fails as a gain.

I do not understand how he can live alone like this.

The kitchen a mess. The living so cramped. And he's alone...dying in America. Alone from overdose.

To understand me, he's got to understand himself. To understand my pain...his gain...this lonliness. It takes over even when I'm with you.

The darkness overcomes, the light seems to fade from my eyes.

He breathes so somber. He breathes so deep. I don't want to loose a... friend?

Not again! Not again! (I couldn't stand the loss.)

Not again! Not again! (I am finally not alone.)

With his heart, and his mind. He's got to know he has to survive.

If not for him, if not for him...for me!

MARK- Whispering in a musical finale tone. "Roger." Stretches arms out across table and leans onto his arms, quickly dozing off.

(6 hours later, give or take, Mark awakens to find that he is now the one sprawled out across a comfortable bed. He sits up and looks around, confused. Where is he? He's not a home. And then he remembers. Roger. But how did he get into the bedroom? Roger was too weak. He didn't sleepwalk. He didn't put himself here. So why is he here? He looks around, looking out the window, realizing that it is now dark as night.)

MARK- Sitting up and throwing his legs over the side of the bed. Looking to doorframe to find a tall black fellow passing by, pausing to look in at him. "Hi." (Said cautiously.)

COLLINS- Leaning onto doorframe. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."

MARK- Narrowing his eyes "You didn't."

COLLINS- "I'm Collins. Tom. Collins. Roger's roommate."

MARK- "Oh, he has a roommate? I thought he lived alone."

COLLINS- Chuckling slightly "Ex-roommate, really. I saw you asleep on the table. You looked uncomfortable. My bed was free."

MARK- "Thanks...ex-roommate?"

COLLINS- "I couldn't stand to see him in pain. I had my own pain to deal with. I had to leave. My HIV was getting the best of me at the time."

MARK- "When was this?"

COLLINS-

So long ago it seems.

That my reality...shook.

So far into the past...it wasn't supposed to last.

According to the notes, I should be dead. (Spoken.)

And, yet, here you are, in my bed. Alive.

I envy you.

You're the movie maker, right? (Spoken.)

MARK- Nodding "That I am."

COLLINS-

You document real life. Even the pain and the strife.

How do you keep a straight face through it all?

MARK- "It's hard."

COLLINS- "I'm sure it is."

It's hard to remain calm when you're the victim.

I am the victim.

The victim of a horrible, life-threatening disease.

One that spreads too quickly to halt. To Halt.

No one seems to know a cure. That's all I want.

A cure. To live a normal life!

I don't want to die.

I don't want strive.

I simply want to be Alive!

I envy those who live.

I envy those who die.

And yet, I just want to survive!

Document my life. Document my pain.

Do it for me. Do it please. (Spoken.)

COLLINS- "I don't have much time."

MARK- "You want me to document your HIV...your life?"

COLLINS-

Do it for me. Please. Do it for me.

Do it for Roger.

MARK- "Oh!" Jumping up, nudging past Collins and going into the living room, where Roger is no where to be seen. Turning to face Collins who reluctantly followed

COLLINS- "He left when I came in. Rushed out is more like it."

MARK- "Did he have his right hand in his jacket pocket?"

COLLINS- "He always does."

MARK- Taking in a slow breath. "Where does he 'hang' out?"

COLLINS- Shrugging. "Here and there. He goes where the music calls."

MARK- "If he comes back, make sure he stays. Please."

COLLINS- Nodding grimly. "Sure thing, Mark." Raising his eyebrow as Mark gathers his things and quickly slips out the door.