Start Date: April 26, 2003 Finish Date: January 27, 2004

The camera comes down from the sky and focuses on Kevin and Gunner walking down the street. The song "New Homes for Idle Hands" by Propagandhi starts to play. It's night time. A yuppy walks by wearing an ADIDAS shirt.

GUNNER (to yuppy): FUCK CHILD LABOR, ASSHOLE!

Gunner kills a bottle of vodka and smashes it against a cement wall.

Another yuppy walks by, this one wearing a shirt with an American flag on it.

KEVIN (to yuppy): FUCK FASCISM, MOTHERFUCKER!

The two keep walking. And a yuppy couple (a guy and a girl) walk into them, and everyone stops. The girl is wearing a Nike shirt and the guy is wearing a "God Bless America" shirt. Gunner swings at the guy, knocking him out. The girl screams, and Kevin swings at her, knocking her out.

GUNNER: Dude, you just fucking hit a girl!

KEVIN: HEY! FUCK SEXISM!

Gunner smiles. A guy from behind jumps Gunner's pack. Kevin slams the guy in the side, as he falls off of Gunner. Gunner kicks him while he's on the ground a few times. Two other guys (yuppy jocks) come running over. Gunner punches one in the face twice. The yuppy falls to the ground, and Gunner grabs his collar and starts repeating punching him in the face. As the other one charges Kevin, he kicks him right as he reaches Kevin. The guy bends over in pain, and Kevin kicks him in the stomach again, and then punches him in the face, knocking him to the ground, where he proceeds to kick him. The camera slowly fades out....

The camera fades in to the sky, day time, next day. Gunner is walking down the street, carrying Freak on his back. She has her legs wrapped around his waist and her arms over his shoulders. He's holding her arms in place on his chest. She has a vodka bottle, that she is taking several swigs from, and pouring down the throat of Gunner now and then. It's just the two of them, as they walk through various people.

GUNNER: Come on, gimmie some more lovin'....

Gunner opens his mouth and she pours in more vodka.

GUNNER: Oh, that's some harsh stuff.

FREAK: I'm trying to spoil my boy.

GUNNER: You're doing a fine job of it.

FREAK: Where are we going?

GUNNER: I thought you were navigating this voyage?

FREAK: Take me to the graveyard of dreams and the birthplace of misery.

GUNNER: The nearest local bar and slash or tavern, righty ho...

FREAK: No, no, no, young feller... You must give birth to virtue, you must die thinking about the purpose of life.

GUNNER: Gimmie some more lovin'...

Freak holds the vodka bottle in front of Gunner's face, and he tries to run towards it, and then she moves it right and left, changing his direction.

GUNNER: Come on... I'mma gettin' agitated.

FREAK: I just wanted to see how you would react. I'm not a tease.

She gives him plenty of vodka.

GUNNER: Yeah, an alcohol tease would be pretty bad. I mean, lure me into sex any day and then refuse me... sure. But don't hold vodka in front of me like that without satisfying me.

Freak leans her face on Gunner's head.

FREAK: Gunner, why do you think we love getting fucked up?

GUNNER: I 'unno.... drugs?

She lifts up her head.

FREAK: That's not an answer.

GUNNER: Oh, well.... uuuhhhhh.... Hey, look, it's Paul! Let's ask him.

PAUL: Hey, Gunner.... What kind of punk rock activity are you up to today?

GUNNER: I'm conducting a survey. Tell me, Paul... why do you like getting fucked up?

PAUL (sarcastic): How dare you presume that I drink...

GUNNER: Okay, Paul. Counting this time, I've seen you sober about 5 times.

PAUL: That's a lie.

GUNNER: So, you aren't sober now.

PAUL: Well, no....

GUNNER: That's what I thought! So, now, continuing the survey, why do you like getting fucked up?

PAUL: Well... You forget your problems and it makes me happy. Can I get my fifty dollars for doing this survey now?

GUNNER: Shut up, you alcoholic.

Freak starts rubbing the sides of Gunner's scalp. He closes his eyes, opens his mouth, and expresses pure bliss.

GUNNER: Ohhh, that feels so good.

PAUL: I'm looking for some weed. I'll catch up with you guys later. Hopefully, Barf will be around somewhere.

GUNNER: All right. Later.

The two keep walking on.

GUNNER: I think Paul's idea of why we get fucked up was pretty accurate. It feels good.

FREAK: But noooo... That answer can't be. It's not satisfying to my soul.

GUNNER: Well, what do you want me to say? I do drugs because, my father did them? I do drugs because, it's part of my religion? I'm not sure the answer that you're looking for.

FREAK: Maybe, then... neither do I.

Gunner closes one eye and uses the other to look up at Freak.

GUNNER: I think I do drugs, and enjoy the status of fucked up, because it's happiness, in a bottle, in a pill, in a syringe, wherever.

FREAK: That's true.

GUNNER: And as homeless punks, we certainly don't have much else to rely upon. It's not like we can go and do whatever we want. No television sets, no radios.

FREAK: Sweep owns a CD player.

GUNNER: Yeah, and it's weird, because he's the youngest. I feel kind of bad for that kid... He's so fucking young, and he's lost so much already, but I can sense in him, that he's not ready to let go of what he doesn't have. Like those forty year old homebums. They carry everything they own. Maybe forty or fifty pounds. I once met this homeless guy, who used to be middle class. He lost his job and couldn't replace it, so he was on unemployment and then lost all his money. So, when I left him, since we chatted and drank for a little, he grabbed a carriage and started pushing it. I asked him what he was doing, and he said with tears in his eyes, "Isn't this what homeless people do? Collect cans for recycling?" I shook my head, took a few more swigs of cheap wine, and said, "Dude, I hope you learn fast."

FREAK: It's hard giving up everything in life, when that's all you've known, to discover the world of nothing.

GUNNER: How did you take to it?

FREAK: I've never belonged to that world of everything. As a six year old, just crashing in dumpsters. And then, these two old people decided to take me home, and they tried to feed me, and clothe me, and wash me. I didn't like it much... They called the police and tried to get me to a real home. After a week, I ran away, as far and as fast as I could. I didn't like their shallow soap operas, and I could see through their lies.

GUNNER: Kind of like Tank. He's like 40, and he's been homeless since he was 8. How old are you, anyway?

FREAK: I'm 16.

GUNNER: Damn, I committed Pedophilia.

FREAK: The laws are a crime. If you want to get lost in life, there is no surer way than following the law.

GUNNER: I love you, Freak.

FREAK: I love you, too, Gunner.

GUNNER: You know... maybe something will happen, one day, where we won't have to beg for change or shoplift for food, and work won't be slavery, and we won't have to live the way we do. That would be something.

FREAK: It would, but you'll choke on the dust that collects while you wait for it. Don't wait, my lover... Take a swig of vodka, close your eyes, and think about my hand on your neck.

GUNNER: I think I will.

The camera slowly fades, as Freak delivers another shwill to Gunner. The camera fades out, as it becomes night. The camera is focusing on a the side of a brick building, slowly moving down, as the sound of a spray-paint can are heard. The words "FUCK THE LAW" are seen. Sweep is standing there, nodding his head while he looks at the words. "Good work," Kevin says, as he walks over and fake-punches Sweep in the arm. He's obviously drunk. The song "Nailing Descartes to the Wall" by Propagandhi begins playing. Gunner, Kevin, and Sweep are running through an inner-city alleyway. The camera stops as they reach a store. Sweep and Gunner are looking at each other, face to face, while Gunner is holding a brick.

GUNNER: You have to throw this brick at this Nike store, and you know you have to. Because children as old as you are employed in factories for sixteen hours a day.

Gunner looks over and sees Tank, as he walks over and crushes his boot through the window of the store. Gunner screams, "AHHHHHHH!" and runs over and smashes one of the windows, while Sweep picks up a rock and does the same to the last remaining window. The camera focuses on the four, Gunner, Sweep, Kevin, and Tank, overlooking the broken shards of the store. Sirens sound, and they all begin to run, except Kevin. A cop car stops and a cop emerges, holding a gun. "Freeze!" he yells. Kevin, also obviously drunk...

KEVIN: Hey!! Fuck you, pig!!!

Kevin hucks a rock at the cop, spider-webbing the front window of the cop cruiser. The cop aims at Kevin, but doesn't take a shot, as Kevin books it down an alleyway. The camera slowly fades out. It's still night time. Kevin, Sweep, and Gunner are walking together, towards the feeding. They're all singing together. "Cause, baby, I'm an Anarchist. You're a spineless liberal. We march together, for the eight hour day, and held our hands together in the streets of Seattle, but when it come time to throw that brick through that Starbucks window, you left me all alone... All alone."

The camera slowly fades towards day time. Gunner is resting in the park on his back. He looks sedated. The others (Kevin, Freak, Spike and Lily) are there. Rat is also the there. She is leaning over him.

RAT: Awwwww, you have a bit too much to take?

GUNNER: No, no, I took some of Barf's medicine?

RAT: You took pills?

GUNNER: Sort of.

RAT: What kind of pills?

GUNNER: Valium, I think.

RAT: Then, you better hold off the liquor.

Gunner, obviously, is wicked fucked up. He's lying on his back, and looks beyond the ability to comprehend what is going on.

GUNNER: But, I only had two.

RAT: Hhhhhhhhhmmmmmm, well, you can have a little bit more vodka., then...

Rat puts the bottle of vodka that Gunner was sipping on up to his mouth and helps him intoxicate himself even more.

GUNNER: Thank you, most beautiful.

Gunner puts his hands on the sides of Rat's face....

GUNNER: You are the most precious, beautiful creature on this planet... When I think about you, I close my eyes, and see beauty.

RAT: And that's only after the orgasm, huh?

GUNNER (with a smile): Must you be so vulgar...?

RAT: No, but you like it that way, right?

GUNNER: I wouldn't have it any other way. Next time, it'll be your turn to make the Universe. Make sure that it's still the same.

RAT: Yeah, who's turn was it last to create the Universe?

Gunner rolls on his side (for no apparent reason).

GUNNER: I think it was Tank's.

RAT: What makes you say that?

GUNNER: The fact that it takes no effort to make alcohol in prison is proof that god is an alcoholic.

RAT: (sarcastic) Are you insinuating that Tank is an alcoholic? Noooo....

GUNNER: It's true.

RAT: Are we talking about the same Tank? The fucking huge guy, who is, well, huge?

GUNNER: I think we are talking about the same Tank.

Tank comes into the scene.

TANK: You know, I heard someone mention my name over here.

GUNNER: That guy.

TANK: That guy what?

RAT: Aawwww, Gunner is on Valium. He thinks you're an alcoholic.

TANK: (sarcastic) Noooooo... I'm a drunk!

RAT: See, Gunner.

GUNNER: Maybe you were right, and maybe I was wrong.

TANK: (sarcastic) Gunner, man.... how could you say that about me? I thought I knew you.

GUNNER: Okay, cut the shit and pass me the whiskey.

TANK: All right, you deserve it.

RAT: No. He's really fucked up on Valium.

GUNNER: But I only had two hits!

TANK: The kid only had two hits!

RAT: Well, fine, but it's against my better judgment.

TANK: Here you go, Gunner.

Gunner takes a few swigs of a bottle of Jagermeister.

GUNNER: Funny.... this doesn't TASTE like whiskey.

TANK: Well, uhhhh, odd that, considering it's not whiskey.

Gunner pulls out a sandwich from his jacket and hands it to Tank.

GUNNER: Here, you need protein to build your muscles.

TANK: I reckon I do. Thanks, Gunner. Well, you can keep that bottle, kiddo.

GUNNER: Yay!

TANK: I'm gonna go spange down one of the touristy streets.

RAT: Careful of the cops, big man.

TANK: Oh, don't you worry, lil gal. I can take care of myself. See you, Gunner. Later, Rat.

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