When we were in the computer lab at Crenshaw High things really started to happen. On the last day sixteen kids were busily typing their scripts. Most often I couldn’t even get their attention when I’d check in with them. I’d usually walk away and say, “okay, keep working. I’ll leave you alone.” Clyde did call me over.

“I had a fight with my mom. How do I write that?” Clyde asked.

“What was the fight about?”

“She stole my crack,” he said with the tone of, what the hell do you think it was about?

“Why did she steal it?” I quesioned.

“Cause she thought it was trash.”

“Why did she think it was trash?” I asked.

“Cause it was in a McDonald’s bag under my bed. She thought it was food.  How do I write that?”

I took a deep breath wondering if I should be calling child services, but instead pointed towards his screen and said, “INT. BEDROOM – DAY, all caps.”

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