Poetic Justice

We see a hand with keys in the frame. The owner of these keys presses a button, which turns on the car alarm. The license on her car reads "Ms. BOOTE". At leg level we swing around to walk toward the salon. In front of the door stands a Panhandler with a sign in hand.

PANHANDLER

Good morning, Jessie. Could you spare some change?!

JESSIE (O.S.)

Hell, naw! And get your dirty, smelly, unemployed ass out from in front of my shop.

We move past the Panhandler and toward the front door of the shop.

INT. JESSIE'S SALON – DAY – BACK TO DOORWAY

Where we see Jessie open her Fendi purse to send Baha on an errand. Since we are at chair level, we notice her shapely bottom half. She got much ass! IDEA start on her purse being opened, then PAN over to Baha as we hear Jessie offscreen.

JESSIE (O.S.)

Baha, do me a favor, baby, and go to the liquor store get me a Honey Bun and a pack of –

BAHA

(taking the money)

Big Red. Yeah, I know.

WIDER

As we see Baha take off for the store and Jessie turned around calling to him.

JESSIE

And bring me back my change!

She turns back around, and we see her face. Jessie is the owner of this shop. She is the queen of the hootchies in tha hood. Her attire puts the E in ethnic, as she is wearing the hottest, most expensive outfit that can be bought at the Fox Hills Mall. She takes off her sunglasses, and we can see her face.

JESSIE

(in a good mood)

Good morning, everybody.

ANOTHER ANGLE

As Jessie walks across the room and to the corner. All the women in the shop are looking at her funny.

JESSIE

(sweetly)

What?! What?

(vicious)

What y'all looking at? I know I'm Ane, but damn! Get back to work.

THE SALON

Where everybody goes about their business.

CONTINUED THE SINK

Iesha's head is in the sink. Justice is shampooing and conditioning her hair. Iesha's eyes are closed to keep the suds from stinging them.

JUSTICE

Just let that conditioning sit for five minutes.

IESHA

Where you going? You not gonna talk to me?

JUSTICE

No, I wanna go over here and talk to Jessie. It's a fivehour job anyway – you might as well just chill.

Justice walks away.

IESHA

All right, then, just play me like a biscuit. Hair all wet, cold.

THE COUNTER

Where Justice joins Jessie, who is busy checking the receipts of the morning.

JUSTICE

So.

JESSIE

Yeah.

They both start laughing. A Delivery Man arrives with boxes of shampoo. A few sistahs throw him an in terested eye. Jessie is checking him out also,

JUSTICE

So he's out, huh? Y'all got buckwild last night? Where'd y'all go?

JESSIE

Could you put 'em over there? Snooty Fox Motor Inn.

(to the stylists)

Y'all make sure to fill out them receipts!

JUSTICE

(laughing)

They still got them red walls?

JESSIE

Yep, mirrors on the ceiling. Same ole, same o'. They been filling out them receipts?

JUSTICE

Yeah.

JESSIE

What you know about mirrors on the ceiling? When the last time you been there?

JUSTICE

Snooty Fox? Don't remember.

INT. JESSIE'S BEAUTY SALON – DAY – DOORWAY

Where we see a brother, Rodney, come in with this woman.

RODNEY

Hey, my girl need her hair and nails done.

JESSIE

She got an appointment?

RODNEY

Naw.

HEYWOOD (O.S.)

She ain't got no hair, either!

Some people laugh. We see the Woman. She got about as much hair as a Snap.

JESSIE

Make an appointment.

(lights a smoke, touches Justice's hat)

Why you keep wearing these hats? What you hidin?! Ooow, keep it on.

JUSTICE

(pulling her hat on)

Stop.

JESSIE

You need to let me do somethin to that head of yours. Man, I'm tired. Got a poem for me today? Lord knows I need one.

JUSTICE

I left my notebook in the car. I'll get it in a bit.

JESSIE

When you gonna get a man? Asking all these questions about mine. You still in mourning? Sportin black, don't make time to do your own hair. Lookin tore up from tha floor up. You can always tell when a woman ain't givin up no coochie.

JUSTICE

I like black. Besides, I don't have no time for no man right now.

JESSIE

See, your problem is you make bad choices in men. You don't know how to pick 'em.

CUT TO:

EXT. STREET – DAY

Where we come down out of the sky to see a small U.S. Postal Mail jeep turn in the street and come to the curb. We hear the heavy bass beat of hip-hop coming from the jeep.

JUSTICE (O.S.)

Look who's talking.

INT. POSTAL JEEP – DAY

Inside the jeep a hand presses the stop/eject on the recorder and flips the tape.

EXT. CITY STREET – DAY – THE GROUND

Where the jeep door opens and a pair of sharp Nikes come out. We travel up to reveal the face of a young Black brother, twenty-two years, well built, rough looking, a close fade under a cap that reads "U.S. MAIL". This is Lucky. Not your everyday postman, but just another hard-working young South Central brother trying to make that hard-to-come-by daily dollar.

ANOTHER ANGLE
 

As Lucky gets his bag and walks toward the salon entrance.

PANHANDLER

(singing)

Hey, hey wait a minute, Mr. Postman! Mr. Postman, got some spare change?

LUCKY

Naw, muthafucka, but I gotta spare stamp so you can mail your ass a job application!

CUT TO:

INT. JESSIE'S SALON – DAY

Where Lucky enters. His eyes take in the sight of all these fine, beautiful sistahs. This is his favorite part of his route. One or two women pass in front of him.

ANOTHER ANGLE

Lucky makes his way to the counter, where he gives the mail to Justice, who is organizing the outgoing mail. Jessie sits nearby.

LUCKY

Y'all didn't get nothing but bills.

Lucky looks at Justice, trying to make eye contact, which she skillfully avoids.

JUSTICE'S POV

Lucky's hands pull out mail and place it on the counter. 36, 48, f.p.s. Justice is licking stamps and placing them on outgoing envelopes. Lucky notices her sexy tongue.

LUCKY

Why you always looking so mad? You too fine to be looking so angry... You must ain't got no boyfriend 'cause you always angry!

Justice finally looks up. Blank eyes. Blank face. No interest whatsoever. Then her face breaks out into a mischievous smile. She looks Lucky up and down, checkin him out.

JUSTICE

(with attitude)

What do you want? What do you want from me?

LUCKY

Well, I think you kinda fly. We could start with your number.

JUSTICE

Come here.

Lucky looks around.

JUSTICE

(sexy)

Come closer. I want to whisper somethin to you.

Lucky leans in closer.

JUSTICE

(coolly)

Let's cut to the chase. What do you reeaally want?... You wanna smell my poonani?

Lucky is taken aback. Surprised.

LUCKY

... Uhh, yeah Here?

JUSTICE

Wait a minute, baby.

(turns to Jessie, loud)

Jessie! He said he wanna smell my poonani!

JESSIE

(coolly, smoking)

Really.

JUSTICE

Yeah. Should I let him smell it?

JESSIE

Yeah.

Jessie coolly walks from behind the counter and comes face to face with Lucky. She leans in close to his face and blows air into his face. Lucky is surprised. Justice and Jessie start laughing. Justice hands Lucky the outgoing mail and walks across the shop to attend to Iesha's hair. She laughs her ass off. Lucky coolly closes his mailbag and walks out of the salon. Jessie looks at his exit and then in Justice's direction. She just smiles in amusement and puts out her cigarette. Same ole, same o'.

EXT. JESSIE'S SALON – DAY

Lucky exits the salon, retaining his cool despite being dissed.

LUCKY

(under his breath, looking back)

Crazy Black bitches.

The Panhandler comes nearby. Lucky reaches into his pocket and gives him a quarter.

LUCKY

And don't smoke it. Here, take a stamp too. He hops into the jeep and drives off.

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. SOUTH CENTRAL POST OFFICE – CENTURY BOULEVARD – DAY

A TIME CLOCK CLOSE

A second hand flows past the frame. The minute hand is steady. The hour hand clicks to 4:30 P.M. A time card is placed in. Someone is checking out.

THE HALLWAY

Where we see Lucky is the one checking out.

WE PUSH IN to him as he takes his card out and places it in a slot on the wall. He then goes in his pocket to pull out an envelope.

THE ENVELOPE

As it is opened, we can barely see that it is a paycheck.

ANOTHER ANGLE

As Lucky notices the amount of the check. He looks frustrated. Off screen We hear the clock tick once more. Lucky looks around to see if anyone is watching. Then he hits the clock, breaking the glass.

INT. BATHROOM – DAY – A DUFFEL BAG

Being stuffed with a postal uniform. A hand pulls out a baseball cap.

EXT. BATHROOM – DAY

Where Lucky emerges in more comfortable clothing. As he walks up the hall and into...

INT. THA SORTIN ROOM – DAY

We start on a large CLOSEUP of George Bush's face. Suddenly, it is hit with many darts. Maybe a shot on dart POV, as in Robin Hood.

WIDER

Where we see that we are in a Sorting Room. This is the place where mail is sorted by ZIP code. There are eight guys at work. Three are brothers; the other five are Hispanic. Chicago and a Mexican dude, E.J., are playing darts.

CHICAGO

You see that? I tore that muthafucka's nose up!

E.J. goes up to the dartboard, to which they have taped a picture of George Bush.

E.J.

Yeah that was nice!

Lucky comes into the room.

LUCKY

Y'all need to get y'all asses to work before y'all get Ared!

CHICAGO & E.J.

Fuck you.

LUCKY

(gestures to Chicago)

What up, souljah?

Chicago walks toward Lucky. E.J. looks a little left out.

CHICAGO

What's up? Hey you know they put two more Buddha heads on mail carrier. Still got me waiting, sorting with tha Mexicans.

We see E.J. in the close background nearby, sorting mail with an open ear.

E.J.

Hey, Chicago, don't be talking bout Mexicans! I kick your ass. At least we got a country.

CHICAGO

(whispers)

I'm on Oaktown Run tomorrow. Getting a truck ready. Wanna go?

LUCKY

Yeah.

E.J.

Y'all going to Oakland?

Lucky cuts him a dry look that reads "Mind your own business."

CHICAGO

Cool. You gonna bring a yamp?

E.J.

(now in the middle)

What's a yamp?

LUCKY

A young tramp. You mind?

E.J. calls Lucky a "Puto" and goes back to sorting mail. Lucky and Chicago walk away and talk.

LUCKY (O.S.)

And get them ZIP codes right.

ANOTHER ANGLE – MOVING

LUCKY

I dunno. Why don't you get that crazy ho' you go wit to hook me up?

CHICAGO

I'm on it. You call your cousin K-Dog?

LUCKY

Naw, not yet. I hadda And a way up there this weekend anyway.

(with pride)

Gotta work on our music thang. It's cool, we gettin' paid to go. Gotta go, Loc.