beyond a clothes line and a septic tank, a huge orange ball of sun is rising. we can almost hear the roar of its burning surface.
the orange sun, rumbling, perceptibly rising.
fast track in on the jar of hair jelly sitting on the shelf under the mirror.
through the glass we see the pimply young cashier with the paper 7-eleven cap pop up from behind the counter to sight down his huge .44 magnum for another shot. the gun is so big he uses both hands to heft it.
ed's car is braking and spinning into a u-turn.
they are rushing toward an imposing colonial house planted at the end of the dead-end street.
arcing around to reveal the biker's face. he still does not react to nathan, not even bothering to give him a glance.
the office is empty. a whipcrack effect builds to the cut and:
a slat in the window blind drops back into place.
at knee-height on the wall in front of him, "fart" is scrawled in crayon.
as the blue paint is smeared away we see hi and ed's car parked broadside in the middle of the road. hi and ed are in front of it, hi aiming his scatter gun, ed a revolver.
ed stepping into his line of fire, blocking lenny.