Outside the main entrance to Sunnyside Shopping Centre - the covered outer piazza. A Christmas tree and decorations. See a MAN lurching out of one of the state-of-the-art public conveniences, as the stainless steel revolving door slides open. This is THOMPSON, early 50s, who we saw at the very beginning. He wears a khaki jacket and belt, and beige cotton trousers. Unlike before, however, he now has a beard, he is thin, has long hair and is filthy. His clothes are soiled and torn, his hands are black. PEOPLE are walking past with their shopping, ignoring him.
As we close in on THOMPSON, we see that his face is scratched and bloody. There is a desperation in his eyes as he looks around. He squints, shielding his eyes from the light, as if he's been in darkness for days. Weeks even. Tears start to stream from his eyes. He can hardly walk as he lurches towards a PASSER-BY.
THOMPSON
(Inaudible at first, hoarse) Help me.
The PASSER-BY ignores him and walks on. THOMPSON goes up to another person, an old lady, OLIVE.
THOMPSON
What day is it?
OLIVE
(Surprised at the question) It's Thursday, dear.
THOMPSON
Thursday what?
OLIVE
I'm sorry?
THOMPSON
Thursday the what?
OLIVE
I believe it's ... the thirtieth today.
THOMPSON
Of what?
OLIVE
Of what?
THOMPSON
(Urgent) Of what month?
OLIVE
Oh. December. (She looks at him, not
knowing whether that's good or bad)
December, dear. (She smiles)
THOMPSON
(In total shock) You're sure?
OLIVE
Oh yes. (She looks over his shoulder
towards the Christmas tree and
decorations) Quite sure.
THOMPSON follows her gaze, looks at the decorations. He starts to shake, like he's having some sort of fit. OLIVE is frightened and watches him helplessly, as he falls to the ground unconscious.
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