Fade in on
Int.  apartment window. rainy day -1940's.
A tall male stares out the window, wearing dress slacks, a cotton white dress shirt and a fedora.  Blinking neon light, outside the window, bathes the figure in intermitting light.
Branson (V.O.)
It was 3:45 on a rainy Saturday afternoon.  It was the kind of rain that chilled you to the bone.  Made you wonder if you'd ever warm up again.
He draws on the cigarette, hanging from his lips.  He exhales slowly.  The smoke dances and twirls in front of him
The figure turns around.  It's NICK BRANSON.  His tie loosely hangs below his open shirt collar.
BRANSON (v.O.)
A fight was about to start.  One that was a long time in the works.  One I was chomping at the bit for--
He walks away from the window and through his living room.  It's very simply furnished in period decor.
BRANSON (V.O.)
And one that I was going to miss.
He looks at a wooden table top radio, sitting on a small table in the corner.  It's plug hangs over its top.
BRANSON (v.O.)
Jackie Francis versus Bobby Carbone.  Heavyweight championship of the world... 
He steps over to the radio, taking a drag on the cigarette.
BRANSON (V.O.)
It was a fight destined for the books.  The Philadelphia Falcon versus Cannonball Carbone--
He picks up the plug and studies it, as if looking for clues.
BRANSON (V.O.)
And me with a broken radio.  What's this world coming to--?
He blows smoke on it, as if to intimidate it.
BRANSON (V.O.)
When an American made product dies on you after eight years?
He lets go of the plug and walks away, toward the kitchen.
BRANSON (V.O.)
I'll tell you where it's going--
He grabs a bottle of Scotch on top of the fridge. 
BRANSON (V.O.)
It's going to dogs--
He pours a glass of scotch.
BRANSON (V.O.)
Mongrel dogs that roam the streets in packs, preying on the weak and leaving their marks where a poor palooka--
He takes a gulp of scotch.
BRANSON (v.O.)
Will step in it...  The only things that could take away this fury would be the smooth taste of a four dollar bottle of scotch, or the soft touch of a beautiful girl.
He looks around his apartment.
He's alone.
BRANSON (v.O.)
And it looks like I'm gonna have to settle on the scotch.
Branson sits on the sofa.  He puts his glass on the coffee table.
BRANSON (V.O.)
Dollface was working at the bakery until six o'clock.
He looks at his watch.
It reads 3:55.
BRANSON (V.O.)
And the fight was gonna start in another thirty-five minutes.
He puts his arm down, in frustration.
BRANSON (V.O.)
I thought about listening to the fight at Jimmy McCann's, but me and Jimmy were having a disagreement lately--
He gets off the couch, taking his scotch with him.
BRANSON (V.O.)
A disagreement regarding a bar tab with my name on it.
He steps over to the radio and looks at.
He takes the plug.
BRANSON (v.O.)
Years on the job taught me a lot of things--
And plug it in the wall outlet.
BRANSON (v.O.)
Like perseverance and--
He turns the knob ON.
BRANSON (v.O.)
Determination...
Silence.
BRANSON (v.O.)
And resourcefulness.
A moment passes.  Branson SLAPS the side of the radio.
Frustration shows on his face.
BRANSON (V.O.)
It really burns my butt how hard--
He storms away, downing his scotch.
BRANSON (v.O.)
Working joes like me slave their lives away day in and day-- 
He puts out his cigarette in an ashtray on the coffee table.
BRANSON (v.o.)
Out only to be brought to my knees--
And lights another one.
BRANSON (V.O.)
By the actions of one crummy radio repair--
A BUZZER is heard.  Branson quickly turns his head to the door.
BRANSON (V.O.)
Man!
Int.  branson's doorway.
Branson swings his apartment door open.
The REPAIR GUY (40) stands in the hallway, a pudgy guy with a comb-over.  He wears work clothes and carries a tool box.
Branson looks at him angry.
Repair Guy smiles and nods as he steps in.  He talks to Branson (MOS).
Branson (V.O.)
He commented something about the weather and said he was sorry for being late--
Branson YELLS at him (MOS), digging his finger in his chest.
Branson (V.O.)
'Sorry nothing,' I said!  You're four hours late and I want an apology!
Repair Guy gives Branson a curious look.
Branson's angry look fades away and is replaced with an confused look.
BRANSON (V.O.)
The room was very quiet... For a very long time.
Repair Guy walks over to the radio as Branson closes the door.
BRANSON (V.O.)
He was smug, alright.  The kind of smug that even--
Repair Guy pops the back off the radio and squats down to look inside.
BRANSON (v.O.)
A mother would want to slap off his face.  And if his mother--
Branson walks over to Repair Guy...
BRANSON (V.O.)
Was a dame with an ounce of class--
And is greeted by Repair Guy's huge butt crack.
He rubs his eyes in disbelief.
BRANSON (V.O.)
Atleast he made me forget about the fight for a while.
Repair Guy pulls out vacuum tubes and quickly looks at them before and putting them back in.
BRANSON (V.O.)
He plied his trade on that radio like an old prostitute--
He holds up a burned out vacuum tube and smiles.
BRANSON (V.O.)
On a sailor's first shore leave.
Int. BRANSON'S DOORWAY.
Repair Guy leaves the apartment.  He slides cash in his pocket.  Branson stands the apartment.
Branson (V.O.)
Ten minutes and six dollars later, he was out of my life.
Branson looks at his watch.
5:26.
BRANSON (V.O.)
Five-twenty-six.  Four minutes--
He hurries to the radio, grinning.
BRANSON (V.O.)
Left.  Plenty of time for--
He dramatically flips the switch with almost a giddy look on his face.
His smile fades.
BRANSON (V.O.)
Nothing.
Horror is on his face.
BRANSON (V.O.)
I bit my tongue, hoping the pain would offer me some relief.  The coppery taste in my mouth didn't give me any. 
The radio cord is unplugged.
BRANSON (V.O.)
Relief, however, came in the form-- 
He gets down on one knee and grabs the plug.
BRANSON (V.O.)
Of a little plug.
He plugs it into the wall.
Sparks fly from the outlet and the radio.
Every light in the room flashes before dark.
The room is dark, except for the flashing of the neon light.
BRANSON (V.O.)
Motherfucker...
FINAL FADE OUT.