Angel starts to hyperventilate. Cain places a heavy hand on the table. CAIN (CONT'D) > Eat. And stop crying. You’re embarrassing me. Angel wipes his face. Picks up his spoon. Corrigan sits on his perfectly made bunk. He’s holding a chess piece—a black knight.
That’s the whole conversation. A concrete tunnel. Fluorescent lights flicker. The smell: bleach, sweat, despair.
On the top bunk, CAIN is lying on his back, eyes open, staring at the ceiling. He hasn’t moved. He heard everything.
Script [portable]: Prison Life
Angel starts to hyperventilate. Cain places a heavy hand on the table. CAIN (CONT'D) > Eat. And stop crying. You’re embarrassing me. Angel wipes his face. Picks up his spoon. Corrigan sits on his perfectly made bunk. He’s holding a chess piece—a black knight.
That’s the whole conversation. A concrete tunnel. Fluorescent lights flicker. The smell: bleach, sweat, despair.
On the top bunk, CAIN is lying on his back, eyes open, staring at the ceiling. He hasn’t moved. He heard everything.