CUT TO:

64 INT. RESTAURANT KITCHEN—ANGLE ON SPOCK

FRAME OBSCURED by a large cloud of steam. As CAMERA PULLS BACK we see Mr. Spock, still wearing the stocking-cap pulled down over his ears, in an old-style button-down undershirt with the sleeves rolled up, industriously working over a zinc double-sink filled with filthy dishes. Horsehair scrub brush, cake of brown lye soap. As he works, we HEAR the VOICE of the COOK O.S.

COOK’S VOICE O.S.

Okay, Chinee No-Talk, time to quit!

Mr. Spock straightens up, with difficulty. His face is drenched with sweat, the front of his wool undershirt stained with a thousand kinds of refuse. He turns and CAMERA PANS WITH him as the Cook comes INTO FRAME.

COOK

Night shift comin’ in, you can knock off.

Mr. Spock starts to leave, slowly, painfully, the way it feels after a day of boring, nauseating drudgery. He takes his seedy jacket from a peg near the sinks, and starts away as the Cook stops him.

COOK (CONT’D.)

Hey, Yellow Peril! Payday today. You been onna job a week, doncha even know when you collect?

Spock stops. There is an expression of infinite weariness there, and resignation. The Cook takes some money from his pocket.

COOK (CONT’D.)

Lessee now…fifteen cents an hour for ten hours a day…that’s, uh, nine dollars fifty for the week…

He starts to count it out. He hands it over to Spock and starts to put the rest of the money back in his pocket. Spock’s hand snakes out quickly, and he grabs the Cook’s wrist in a grip that is obviously painful. The Cook’s face screws up in anguish and he bends a little to the angle of Spock’s pressure. Then, in a very calm voice, Spock addresses him.

SPOCK

(matter-of-factly)

Ten dollars and fifty cents for the week. Seventy hours at fifteen cents an hour.

COOK

(in pain)

Hey! Leggo, you’re gonna bust it.

SPOCK

(calmly)

Ten dollars and fifty cents…

COOK

(real anguish)

Okay, okay, ten, ten, anything you say…yeah, I figgered it wrong…

Spock releases him. The Cook rubs the wrist furiously.

COOK (CONT’D.)

Jeez, you don’t haveta ruin a stiff jus’ cuz he misfigured somethin’, do ya? Here’s your lousy buck…

He hands Spock the extra dollar. Spock moves toward door.

COOK (CONT’D.)

(shouts after)

You sure learned to figger money pretty quick…an’ you dint speak so good last week like that…you was just playin’ dumb…

But Spock has slammed the door to the alley exit as we HOLD on the Cook and he says his last line.

DISSOLVE TO:

65 EXT. NEW YORK STREET—EVENING (DAY FOR NIGHT)