ON BLACK: "A MAN MUST LOOK AT HIS LIFE AND THINK LUXURY." FADE IN: EXT. GUARJIRA, COLOMBIA - 1989 - DAY A majestic panorama of the lush green slopes that are the Columbian highlands. A faint chopping sound IS HEARD and then another. WHOOSH. WHOOSH. The view changes and tiny dots appear on the hillside vegetation. WHOOSH. CLOSER We realize the dots are people. Workers swinging long steel machetes in slow methodical rhythm. WHOOSH. WHOOSH. WE SEE the South American Indian MEN clearly now. Their tar stained teeth. Their gaunt faces riddled with crow's feet. Their jaws chewing away on huge wads of coca leaves as they collect the harvest. EXT. DIRT ROAD - COLOMBIA - DAY Old rickety trucks carrying the huge green tractor-sized bales speed along the narrow road. EXT. CLEARING - COLOMBIA - DAY The bundles are undone and Columbian women separate out the leaves. Tribes of underweight workers carry armload after armload of the harvest and ritualistically dump them into a gigantic cannibal pot which sits on top of a raging bonfire. The leaves are being boiled down and a huge plume of smoke streaks the sky. Wizened Indios brave the heat and shovel ashes into the pot to cool the solution. INT. JUNGLE - COLOMBIA - DAY A primitive but enormous makeshift lab contains all the equipment. The machinery. The solutions. The over-sized vats. Dark-skinned bandoleros smoke cigarettes and sport automatic weapons at all the points of entry. The coca is now a "basuco" paste and is being sent in for a wash. INT. LABORATORY - COLOMBIA - 1989 - DAY A conveyor belt pours out brick after brick of pure cocaine hydrochloride. The bricks are wrapped, tied up, weighed, and stamped with a "P" before being thrown into duffel bags. EXT. JUNGLE AIRSTRIP - COLOMBIA - DAY A small twin-engine Cessna is loaded with dozens of duffel bags and the plane takes off. EXT. VERO BEACH AIRFIELD - NIGHT The Cessna touches down. EXT. WORKSITE - WEYMOUTH - 1966 - DAY The worksite is busy. George is amongst other workers, working a summer job. As George is taking five, he looks across the sight to Fred, who is sweeping up debris. A long way from being the boss. INT. COLLEGE ADMISSIONS OFFICE - WEYMOUTH - 1966 - DAY George stands in line to register for college, wearing his Brooks Brothers suit, bowtie, and freshly Bryllcreamed hair. The room is crowded and the line is long. Bob Dylan's "Subterranean Homesick Blues" blares out of one of the kid's transistor radios. George looks around the room. He is uncomfortable. He catches his reflection in the shiny glass partition and stops. He doesn't like what he sees. Something is not right. He looks like everyone else. Same cookie-cutter hair, same cookie-cutter clothes, same cookie cutter faces. He's a carbon copy. REGISTRATION WOMAN Next. It's George's turn but he doesn't hear it. "Twenty years of schooling and they put you on a day shift." The words hit him like a tone of bricks as he continues to stare at his own reflection. GEORGE (V.O.) I was standing there, and it was like the outside of me and the inside of me didn't match, you know? And then I looked around the room and it hit me. I saw my whole life. Where I was gonna live, what type of car I'd drive, who my neighbors would be. I saw it all and I didn't want it. Not that life. EXT. CONSTRUCTION SITE - WEYMOUTH - 1966 - DAY George sits with Fred. It's breaktime and Fred eats from a lunch box. GEORGE There's something out there for me, Dad. Something different. Something free form, you know? Something for me, and college just isn't it. FRED That's too bad. You would have been the first one in the family. GEORGE I know. FRED Alright. You want me to get your old job back? Because I could, you know, I could put in that word. GEORGE No, Dad. I don't want to...I mean, I just don't want... It's obvious to Fred that his son doesn't want to be like him. FRED What are you going to do? GEORGE I'm going to California. EXT. BELMONT SHORES APARTMENT - 1968 - DAY SUPERIMPOSE: MANHATTAN BEACH, CALIFORNIA 1968 George and Tuna, now 21-years old, struggle with their bags. Their new place is a tackily furnished, two-story apartment with small balconies and a view of the ocean. As George and Tuna struggle with the bags, two California beauties appear on the balcony next door: BARBARA BUCKLEY, 20, and MARIA GONZALES, 21. GIRLS You guys need some help? George and Tuna share a look. TUNA I don't know about you, but I think we're gonna like it here. EXT. MANHATTAN BEACH - 1968 - DAY SERIES OF SHOTS Barbara and Maria introduce George and Tuna around to the Manhattan Beach regulars. They are immediately accepted despite their ill fitting shorts and Tuna's unhip black socks. The beach scene is one big party. Lots of beer, music, bikinis, and good times. By the end of the day, George and Tuna have a hundred new friends. GEORGE (V.O.) California was like nothing I'd ever experienced. The people were liberated and independent and full of new ideas. GEORGE (V.O.) (CONT'D) They used words like "right on," "groovy," and "solid." The women are all beautiful and seemed to share the same occupation. WOMAN #1 I'm a flight attendant. WOMAN #2 I'm a flight attendant. WOMAN #3 I'm a flight attendant. The weed comes out and is passed around. Pipes. Joints. Bongs. In SLOW MOTION, Barbara takes a huge hit of grass, grabs George's face, french kissing him, and giving him a huge shotgun. INT. BELMONT SHORES APARTMENT - 1968 - DAY George and Barbara are sleeping late. Their bodies intertwined beneath the sheets. A slam of the front door wakes them up. It's Tuna. TUNA Hey, wake up. Come on, you two lovebirds. Hurry, I want to show you something. George and Barbara shake cobwebs out and stumble into the kitchen to find Tuna holding a brown paper shopping bag. TUNA (CONT'D) Figured it out. GEORGE Figured what out? TUNA You know how we were wondering what we were going to do for money? Being how we don't want to get jobs and whatnot? Well, check this out. Tuna takes the paper bag and empties its contents on the kitchen table. It's a grey mound of stocky, seedy marijuana. Barbara examines the reefer. BARBARA Tuna, this is crap. TUNA I know it's not the greatest. It's commercial. BARBARA It's garbage. GEORGE It's oregano. You got ripped off, pal. What are you gonna do with all this? TUNA We sell it. I got it all figured out. We make three finger lids and sell them on the beach. We move all of it. We've made ourselves a hundred bucks. Or a lot of weed for our head. What do you think? Not bad, huh? I got the baggies and everything. BARBARA You can't sell this to your friends. TUNA Man. Fuck you guys. I have this great idea and you guys have to be all skeptical. BARBARA Look, if you really wanna score some dope, I got the guy. EXT. THE WHIPPING POST - MANHATTAN BEACH - 1968 - DAY George, Barbara and Tuna stop outside the front door. GEORGE Are you sure this guy is cool? BARBARA You'll see for yourself. TUNA A beauty parlor for men? Sounds pretty queer. They walk in. INT. THE WHIPPING POST - MANHATTAN BEACH - 1968 - CONTINUOUS George, Tuna and Barbara enter. The Whipping Post is California's first male hair salon. George looks around at the customer's being pampered. Haircuts, pedicures, manicures. GEORGE Nothing like this back home. BARBARA Derek! DEREK FOREAL is a curious man. Daringly effeminate, especially for the sixties, he is always surrounded by beautiful women. As he sees Barbara, he stops his haircut and runs to embrace her. DEREK Barbie! Derek's female entourage rush over as well. Kisses all around. DEREK (CONT'D) So, this is the new man, huh? He's cute! George...
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