THE DAY THE TRAINS RAN LATE

THE DAY THE TRAINS RAN LATE
ANONYMOUS MOVING IMAGES

We see a man sitting at a rundown train station...

"This is great.
Missed my connecting flight.
So, in turn I was late to catch the second to last train of the evening.
Next one is in 3 hours and it's... DELAYED.

3 hours...

I'm exhausted.
If I close my eyes I'll be out like a light.
I need coffee.

Okay... that's a pretty strange looking coffee shop but it appears to be the only game in town and coffee is coffee right."

As he enters the coffee shop...

"Something’s not right here.
Where's the waitress?
Why's it so quiet in here?.
No customers, no workers.
What the hell.

Hello...
Is anybody home?

Maybe they're in the back partying."

As he opened the door to the kitchen he stops dead in his tracks.

Theres's a man with a gun over there.

"You lost, Pencil Pusher?
Or did you come for me to sign for a delivery?"

Here's a guy who worries about contracts and deadlines.
A 9 to 5 man thrown into a 24 hour-world.

But then he saw her.

She didn't look like a waitress. She looked like a princess from a storybook—high cheekbones, hair like silk, and eyes wide with a terror so real. She was gagged with a strip of linen, her wrists bound together with industrial zip ties.

"The lady, let her go."

The large man laughed, a wet, rattling sound.

"And what are you gonna do, file a complaint?
Sue me for emotional distress?"

He took a step forward. The revolver caught the light.

"Think, you idiot. You’ve spent twenty years watching stories. You’ve edited thrillers. You know how this scene ends for the guy who just stands there. But 50 pounds of contracts in a hard binder versus a very large man with a gun."

He had to save her.

"I'm not going to sue you, I'm going to cancel your contract."

Every time the man thinks to himself the sound of a manual typewriter clacks in the background, as if someone is typing his thoughts in real-time...then time stops.

The characters are motionless.

As if Rod Serling narrates the end of a Twilight Zone episode...

A portrait of a man in transit. A man who deals in films and stories, now trapped within one of his own making. The author of a screenplay with no final page, a director who has lost the ending to his own film. He just wanted a cup of coffee and a piece of apple pie; instead, he's entered a permanent residence in a terminal where the clocks never tick and the trains never arrive. A 9-to-5 man who was about to find out what he's made out of until...

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