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Working Tacoma is a 93-page feature length screenplay set against the backdrop of The City Tacoma, 1994. The City is focused on the task of cleaning-up it’s image. For the strip club owner, BILLY MIALARET, business has been good. He is planning his second club but there are licensing difficulties.
Leaving a party, Billy finds his ex-girlfriend Carmen, a former stripper turned prostitute, dead of a heroin overdose in the backseat of his car. Billy feels he is sinking and offers two small-time hustlers, the HARLAN BROTHERS, a thousand dollars to deal with Carmen’s body.
FRANK and RED Harlans’ only resources are an inherited junkyard and jobs picking up corpses from State and County “homes”. The stress of methamphetamines, poverty, and their constant exposure to each other is raising a boil on both of them.
The two remaining women in Billy’s life are at crossroads. It does not take much imagination for GEN, his current girlfriend, to see her fate tied to Carmen’s. ANGEL, a waif from a dead-end mountain town dances at Billy’s club. She is beautiful, fragile, and an easy target for the predators of the sex business. Angel needs protection and everyone who sees her knows this.
Billy survives by acting in his own self-interest. He will never completely abandon those he’s loved, but he will always stray toward beauty and whoever and whatever makes him feel good.
Driven by a mixture of the need for vengeance and a need to know what happened, Billy searches for the person responsible for Carmen’s death. When the Harlans’ relationship explodes the deadly shockwaves reach out for Billy.
something charming
on the piano
a rolling tune
to make you think
of a small circus
a slender woman
on the rope
agile, balanced
wraps her leg
like a snake
and hangs
in arched glory
at a dangerous height
then snaps and twists
and lowers herself
uncurling her body
onto the stool
next to yours
“bravo” you shout
and quickly check
your wallet
hoping you have enough
to buy her a drink
when it rains gasoline
the fires burn
you become
used to the sight
of cardboard signs
held on the corner
asking for work
and invoking god
or the guy sitting on the grass
blanket pulled over his head
sucking on the urge
to destroy himself
a hundred small cuts
already on his fingers
and hands
his friends are still
by his side and watch
him like he’s on a trapdoor
that’s about to open
they smell the smoke
and feel the flames
but stand fast
and there’s nothing
else they can do
the ambulance driving
up the street
has got a neighbor
loaded in back
rolling slow
no swirling lights
no panicked siren
all the time in the world
a block down
the old folks home
is a constant source
of late-night visits
a tall building full
of people coming to terms
for them the ‘moment’
is almost over
Seattle, WA 98107, US
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