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 INT. CAFE - DAY Mo Joe sits at a table, watches admiringly as Esther picks up a drink and walks to a distant table. He sees her dancing in the loincloth and leaf-covered bikini top. BOB, 40s, steps up to the table, sits across from Mo Joe. BOB: Same old Mo. Were you undressing her? MO JOE: Not exactly. I've got business on my mind, Bob. I'll cut to the chase. I want to start a dispensary. BOB: (groans) I see. You know that it's impossible to get a new license. MO JOE: Ah, but that's where you come in. BOB: I was afraid you were going to say that. MO JOE: I know you're sitting on a license-- BOB: For good reason. If we split up the market too much, nobody can make a decent margin. MO JOE: That's protectionism, not capitalism. You can't be playing monopoly with the public's hunger for psychoactive exploration. BOB: Spare me your concern for the public, Morris. What's this all about, really? MO JOE: I had an inspiration. BOB: You mean a delusion. Exactly what I mean. You're not a businessman. MO JOE: I'm a visionary. BOB: You mean a psychotic. You let these...these hallucinations cloud your judgment. Run your life. (He notices Mo Joe wearing a distant look.) BOB: Case in point. Okay. Just out of morbid curiosity. What are you seeing? MO JOE: (mischievous grin) Nothing. The open-minded expression on your handsome face. Okay, here's the deal. You've been wondering all these years what you could do to reward your comrade-in-arms for saving your life? Well, this is it. BOB: Comrade-in-arms? You were a reporter, Mo, not a soldier. MO JOE: An embedded reporter. I could have taken a bullet as easy as you. BOB: But you didn't. Though you did get to the radio to call in the meds. (hesitates; then off Mo Joe's sweet smile) Okay. You've got six months. Don't be flattered. Only because I don't think you'll offer much competition to the other dispensaries. MO JOE: (controlling glee) Thanks for the vote of confidence. (they stand, shake hands) That's fine. I prefer to be underestimated.
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