RED

Yes sir. That I am.

P.O.

How you doing otherwise? Adjusting okay?

RED

Things got different out here.

P.O.

Tell me about it. Young punks protesting the war. You imagine? Even my own kid. Oughtta bust his fuckin' skull.

RED

Guess the world moved on.

INT -- FOODWAY -- DAY

Bagging groceries. CHILDREN underfoot. One points a toy gun at Red, pumping the trigger. Red focuses on the gun, listening to it CLICKETY-CLACK. Sparky wheel grinding.

The kids get swept off by MOM. Red starts bagging the next customer. SLOW PUSH IN on Red. Surrounded by MOTION and NOISE. Feeling like the eye of a hurricane. People everywhere, whipping around him like a gale. Strange. Loud. Dizzying. It gets distorted and weird, slow and thick, pressing in on him from all sides. The noise level intensifies. The hollering of children deepens and distends into LOW EERIE HOWLS.

He's in the grip of a major anxiety attack. Tries to shake himself out of it. Can't. Fumbles the final items into the bag. Walks away. Trying not to panic. Trying not to run.

He makes his way through the store. Blinking sweat. He bumps into a lady's cart, mumbles an apology, keeps going. Breaks into a trot. Down the aisle, cut to the left, through the door into the back rooms, faster and faster, running now, slamming through a door marked "Employees Only" into --

INT -- EMPLOYEE RESTROOM -- DAY

-- where he slams the door and leans heavily against it, shutting everything out, breathing heavily. Alone now.

He goes to the sink, splashes his face, tries to calm down. He can still hear them out there. They won't go away. He glances around the restroom. Small. Not small enough.

He enters a stall. Locks the door. Puts the toilet lid down and sits on the john. Better. He can actually reach out and touch the walls now. They're close. Safe. Almost small enough. He draws his feet up so he can't be seen if somebody walks in.

He'll just sit here for a while. Until he calms down.

EXT -- STREET -- DUSK

Red is walking home.

RED (V.O.)

There is a harsh truth to face. No way I'm gonna make it on the outside.

He pauses at a pawnshop window. An array of handguns.

RED (V.O.)

All I do anymore is think of ways to break my parole.

The SHOPKEEPER appears at the glass, locking the door and flipping the sign: CLOSED.

INT -- RED'S ROOM -- NIGHT

Red lies smoking in bed. Unable to sleep.

RED (V.O.)

Terrible thing, to live in fear. Brooks Hatlen knew it. Knew it all too well. All I want is to be back where things make sense. Where I won't have to be afraid all the time.

He glances up at the ceiling beam. "Brooks Hatlen was here."

RED (V.O.)

Only one thing stops me. A promise I made to Andy.

EXT -- COUNTRY ROAD -- MORNING

A pickup truck rattles up the road trailing dust and pulls to a stop. Red hops off the back, waves his thanks. The truck drives on. Red starts walking. PAN TO a roadside sign: BUXTON.