INT. STOCKBROKER’S OFFICE – DAY

Lights up on a 1940’s wood paneled office, complete with fedora-bearing hat-rack and a framed newspaper with the headline “Japan Surrenders” posted on the wall. A clerk in a dapper brown suit, WOODROW, fills out some paper in a ledger on a big wooden desk while a clock ticks loudly in the background.  PHIL, dressed much more casually in jeans and a leather jacket, sits on the other side bouncing his knee.

Woodrow finishes, adjusts his gold-rim wire spectacles to review the paper, then slides it across the desk to Phil.

WOODROW

Just sign the certificate at the bottom.

Woodrow goes to a large floor safe, and starts working the combination. Phil signs and pushes it back.

Woodrow returns to the desk holding another piece of paper.  He sits and looks over the one Phil just signed.

WOODROW

One dollar and thirty-eight cents please.

Phil counts out several coins on the desk, then pushes them across.  He’s almost bouncing in his seat. Woodrow uses a blotter to dry Phil’s signature, then stands and presents the other piece of paper to Phil.

WOODROW

Congratulations, you now own one hundred stock shares of IBM.

Woodrow shakes Phil’s hand.

PHIL

Hotdamn!!!  I’m rich!!! When I get home these will be worth millions!!! 2009, here I come!!!

Phil touches a device clipped to his belt, and in a flash of light and sound he disappears. Woodrow’s hair is blown back.  Papers that were blown off the desk when Phil disappeared slowly settle back down. Woodrow looks around the office, puzzled.  He shrugs then starts tidying up.

Another flash of noise and light scatter things around again. Phil has reappeared.  He steps over to Woodrow.

PHIL

Uhhh...I’d actually make more if I just sold these back to you right now.

BLACK OUT