CUT TO:

INT. A BANK LOBBY - DAY

A white-haired man in in sixties walks into an upscale bank lobby, looking thoroughly out of his element. This is MARTIN. He approaches a desk in one corner of the space, which is occupied by a black man in his fifties. This is AUSTIN, a loan officer. He is staring intently at his computer screen.

MARTIN: Austin.

Austin quickly presses a button on his keyboard, then looks up from his computer screen and smiles.

AUSTIN: Marty! Hey, what’s going on, man? Hey...

Austin points a finger at Martin in mock accusation.

AUSTIN: (CONT’D) Don’t you tell me you didn’t like those sandwiches I sent over.
MARTIN: Don’t do that.
AUSTIN: Jeez, man, they were just sandwiches. What do you have against pastrami?
MARTIN: Not that. Don’t call me “Marty.”

With an exaggerated roll of his eyes, Austin responds.

AUSTIN: Oh, I’m sorry, “Martin.” You know, maybe you’d be in a better mood without that stick up your ass.

Martin does not respond. Instead, he pulls up a chair and sits down opposite Austin.

AUSTIN: (CONT’D) (Sarcastically) Why, yes, Martin. By all means. Please, sit down.

Martin stares impassively at Austin. Several meters behind him, near the entrance to the bank, an elderly JANITOR slowly pushes a cart full of cleaning supplies.

MARTIN: I need to take out a loan.

Austin offers an affected (but affectionate) smile of mock surprise.

AUSTIN: A loan? You? Mister frugal living? Nah, you’re messing with me. Hey, let’s make tacos tonight. What do you say?
MARTIN: I’m serious, Austin.

Austin sighs.

AUSTIN: Come on, man, don’t make me do this.
MARTIN: I need money.

The janitor unfolds and sets up an ornate warning sign with a picture of a stick figure slipping emblazoned on it. He regards it for a moment, then glances over at Austin and Martin.

AUSTIN: Look, Martin, you’re not exactly a creditor’s dream, okay?

The janitor shuffles over to Martin and Austin.

MARTIN: What do creditors dream about, then? Spending millions of dollars on special paintings?
AUSTIN: Special...? Okay, not quite, but...

The janitor, having arrived behind Martin, interrupts.

JANITOR: Wet floor.
AUSTIN: What?

The janitor gestures back at the yellow sign.

JANITOR: Wet floor.
AUSTIN: Okay. Thank you.

Austin watches the janitor start to walk away, then returns his attention to Martin.

AUSTIN: (CONT’D) Look, the fact is, nobody reputable is going to give you a loan.
MARTIN: You could if you wanted.
AUSTIN: I don’t own the bank, Martin!

The janitor walks back up behind Martin.

JANITOR: Not wet yet.
AUSTIN: What?
JANITOR: Soon.

Austin gestures pointedly at Martin while staring at the janitor.

AUSTIN: I’m with a client.

The janitor looks at Martin as though seeing him for the first time.

JANITOR: Hello.
MARTIN: Hi.
JANITOR: Wet floor.
AUSTIN: Thank you!

The janitor leaves again, returning to his cart of cleaning supplies. He detaches a rolling mop bucket from one side and starts wetting down the floor.

MARTIN: So, I’m a client now.
AUSTIN: Stop it.
MARTIN: I'm not doing anything.
AUSTIN: Stop it.
MARTIN: Give me a loan.
AUSTIN: You can't bully your way into one! Okay? Even if I processed an application for you, it would get rejected. You don’t have any income.
MARTIN: I have my pension.
AUSTIN: What do you need a loan for, then?

Before Martin can answer, a shout of alarm and indignation is heard as the janitor slips and falls on the floor he was cleaning. He attempts to right himself, becoming thoroughly soaked.

MARTIN: This isn’t exactly easy for me, you know.

Austin nods sympathetically.

AUSTIN: I get that, man. I really do.

He pauses for a moment, considering.

AUSTIN: (CONT’D) Look, if there’s some kind of an emergency...
MARTIN: My toilet’s broken.

Austin stares at Martin with a look of incredulity, then starts laughing.

AUSTIN: Damn, man, so I wasn’t wrong when I said you had a stick up your ass!

Martin looks ready to say something, but Austin holds up a hand.

AUSTIN: (CONT’D) Okay, here, look. You head back to your house. Stop off and get some taco supplies. You can afford that, right?

Martin nods.

AUSTIN: (CONT’D) Great. I’ll pitch in when I get there, and I’ll see about fixing your toilet. Just give me an hour to finish up some stuff here.
MARTIN: I’d rather just call a plumber.
AUSTIN: I used to be a plumber, Martin.
MARTIN: Yeah, yeah, you used to be everything.

Austin gives Martin a slightly hurt look, but does not say anything. Martin rises and walks past the janitor, who is still struggling on the floor.

JANITOR: Wet floor!
MARTIN: Yeah.

FADE OUT