Scene: Dave, carrying flowers enters a hotel foyer, carrying flowers and a picnic basket.
Dave approaches the reception desk
Dave: Good morning!
Leigh: Good afternoon, sir, how may I help you?
Dave: I’m looking for my wife, Mary-Belle.
Leigh: Have you tried your room, sir?
Dave: Oh, I don’t have a room, she works here.
Leigh: Ah, I see. One moment please.
Dave paces away from the desk as Leigh types on a keyboard behind the desk.
Leigh: What department does she work in, sir?
Dave: Events manager. Can you just call her for me please?
Leigh: No Mary-Belle works here, sir. Perhaps you have the wrong hotel?
Dave: I do not have the wrong fucking hotel. What do you mean no Mary-Belle works here? She is my wife, she works here. She left for work this morning, and she is here.
Leigh: There is no need for that language, sir.
Dave’s eye twitches
Dave: Right, good, grand.
Scene: The street outside the hotel. The flowers are in a bin, the petals that escaped are blowing down the street, but the picnic basket is still in his hand. Dave is trying to call Mary-Belle, but her phone goes straight to voice-mail.
Mary-Belle: Hi, Mary-Belle here, I can’t come to the phone at the moment, so leave a message and I will get back to you when I can. Beep.
Dave: Mary-Belle its Dave, can you please ring me. I called into the hotel today at lunch and I couldn’t find you. Please, just ring me.
Dave looks up and down the street, and puts his head in his hands.
Scene: A bar, shafts of sunlight struggle to break through the dirty windows. Dave is sitting at a bar counter, there are not many people in the bar.
Finn: You want another?
Dave tilts his near empty glass towards the bar man and it is filled with whiskey
Finn: Problems, brother?
Dave: You could say that…
Finn: Ain’t no problem in this world that can’t be helped by some fine blues music. You listen to blues, man?
Finn: Well, you should start. It does a damn sight better than the whiskey.
Dave: Look, just shut up, OK? I just wanna drink.
Finn: OK, friend, no bother.
Finn walks to the other end of the bar and begins cleaning the counter. Dave glares at him until he forgets why, then remembers his missing wife. Dave looks over the bar to the dirty mirror behind. His reflection is dark, and he smiles. He drains the glass of whiskey and slams it on the counter.
Dave: Thanks man, thanks for your help.
Dave walks out of the bar, onto the busy road outside and is immediately hit by a fast moving bus, spreading his body across the pavement, splattering blood on the already dirty windows of the bar.