A Clash of Class By Sam Kemp
31543@eastnorfolk.ac.uk
EXT. CALIFORNIA. CLUB STRIP. MIDNIGHT. A giant hairy biker is walking along a strip of nightclubs. He slugs down vast amounts of whiskey from a litre bottle. Anyone who walks past gets mowed down or dodges his extreme power. He moves for nobody. As he walks past a grimy looking bar, covered in red lights, he is approached by junked up twig of a woman. PROSTITUTE Awight darlin you lookin for some fun? The biker stops to reply to the woman. HAIRY BIKER Whatcha mean fun? PROSTITUE Ya’know a bit of dirty business. The biker shakes his head and laughs. HARIY BIKER (Said still laughing) So you want me to pay you for sex? The prostitute looks surprised and shows a massive amount of anger on her face. PROSTITUTE (Getting angrier) Whatcha fucking mean... HAIRY BIKER I wouldn’t go near you with a shitty bargepole. PROSTITUTE (At the pinnacle of her anger) Oh go on then fuck off ya rude bastard. HAIRY BIKER (Still laughing) Don’t worry I will. Back home to my wife. The biker starts walking away, still shaking his head and laughing while the prostitute continues to shout abuse at him.