EXT. ALLEY BEHIND PADDY'S — DAY
FRANK (marching in, irritated)
No, CHARLIE, you can't just "declare bankruptcy" on the sidewalk. That's not a thing.
CHARLIE (keeping up, argumentative)
It absolutely is a thing. The sidewalk is public, Frank. It's like… the court of the street.
FRANK (pointing at him as they walk)
You don't get street-court! You get arrested! That's what you get!
CHARLIE (waving him off)
Yeah, but arrested is just jail-bankruptcy. It wipes the slate clean.
FRANK (disgusted)
What are you—what is this, some kind of… feral financial advice?
CHARLIE (stopping abruptly)
Hold on.
CHARLIE (immediately climbing into the dumpster like it's a cannonball)
Woooo! Yeah! This one's a good one!
FRANK (stopping short, appalled)
Jesus Christ—CHARLIE!
CHARLIE (from inside, delighted)
C'mon in, FRANK! It's like a pool! It's warm! It's got—like—a cover!
FRANK (peering over, refusing)
I am not getting in the trash-pool.
CHARLIE (popping his head up, offended)
It's not trash! It's resources. It's a resource pool.
FRANK (shooing him back down)
Shut up. I'm gonna poke around first—make sure there's not needles or raccoons or… whatever you are.
CHARLIE (already rooting around, muffled)
Needles are fine. Needles are like little metal fish.
FRANK (moving along the row of dumpsters, scanning)
Needles are NOT little— Jesus, why do I do this with you?
CHARLIE (calling out like a lifeguard)
Because you like it, Frank! You like the hunt! You're a predator!
FRANK (snorts, checking behind a pile of busted crates)
I'm a businessman.
CHARLIE (matter-of-fact)
Predator.
FRANK (spots something, pauses)
Hold on.
FRANK (crouching, tugging a cardboard shipping box out from behind junk)
What the hell is this?
CHARLIE (popping up instantly, eyes wide)
OHHHH what'd you get?! Is it food?! Is it a bat?! Is it a dead guy?!
FRANK (reading the side, squinting)
It's… a box. A nice box.
CHARLIE (leaning out over the dumpster edge, hungry)
Nice boxes mean nice stuff, Frank. Nice boxes mean rich trash.
FRANK (pulling open the flaps, cautious)
It's got foam and everything. This is like… tech foam.
CHARLIE (gasps, climbing higher)
Tech foam?! That's like… NASA trash!
FRANK (lifting one out)
What is— it's like a helmet. A face thing.
CHARLIE (eyes lighting up)
Dude… is that a robot blindfold?
FRANK (turning it over, impressed despite himself)
This is expensive. This is… future stuff.
CHARLIE (urgent, pointing from the dumpster)
Put it on! Put it on right now!
FRANK (not putting it on)
I'm not putting on alley-technology, Charlie.
CHARLIE (insistent)
No, FRANK, you gotta try it—because if it's mind control, we need to know! If it's mind control, we can sell it to perverts!
FRANK (digging deeper, eyes widening)
There's more.
CHARLIE (giddy)
How many more?!
FRANK (pulling them out one by one, stacking)
Two… three… four…
CHARLIE (counting along, like it's Christmas)
Yes! Yes! Yes!
FRANK (finding the last two)
Five… six.
CHARLIE (triumphant, spreading his arms from inside the dumpster)
SIX! Like a six-pack! Like the Lord intended!
FRANK (staring at the pile, brain already doing crime math)
Six is… six is a business. Six is a franchise.
CHARLIE (suddenly suspicious)
Wait—why are there six? Who was doing this with six people, Frank?
FRANK(shrugs, grabs a little warning label and reads it badly)
"DO NOT REMOVE WHILE IN USE."
CHARLIE (delighted, instantly misreading that)
Ohhh, so it's like… permanent. Like a marriage.
FRANK (eyes gleaming)
Perfect.
CHARLIE (grinning, climbing out a little)
We just found the future, Frank.
FRANK (hugging the box like it's a baby)
We found money.
CHARLIE (thinking, nostalgic)
I found a future once. It was full of rats.
FRANK (already walking out with the box)
Get out of the dumpster and come on.
CHARLIE (dropping back in, rummaging one last time)
I'm checking for accessories! Future accessories!
FRANK(calling back)
NO MORE TRASH-FUTURE, Charlie!
SMASH TO BLACK.
TITLE CARD: THE GANG GETS STUCK IN VR