DOUBLE DUTCH BUS: A musical odyssey about losing your license (FULL VERSION - TRACKS 1-6)

  Double Dutch Bus: A musical odyssey about losing your license 

With music by Frankie Smith

Track 1: “Slang Thang”

[SCENE START]

0:00 - 0:10

OPEN ON: A title card in a funky, 80s-style font with neon green and pink outlines against a starry night sky.

TITLE CARD: DOUBLE DUTCH BUS: a musical odyssey about losing your license

0:11 - 0:25

EXT. GAS STATION - NIGHT

The title card fades to reveal a slightly gritty, all-night gas station on a lonely California highway. A dusty, but still muscular, 1972 PLYMOUTH ROAD RUNNER pulls up to the pumps. RAY DELGADO (30s, handsome but looking tired after a long day) gets out. He’s wearing generic work coveralls.

He pumps gas, stretching his back. He glances towards the restroom door with a look of determination.

0:26 - 0:45

INT. GAS STATION BATHROOM - NIGHT

Ray is in the small, dimly lit bathroom. He’s changed out of his coveralls into a pair of very thin, tight, grey jogging pants and a t-shirt. He stuffs the coveralls, along with his wallet and keys, into a duffel bag. The song's iconic intro beat begins to fade in.

(MUSIC: Funky, rhythmic beat starts - "Do it to the east, do it to the west...")

He steps out of the bathroom, duffel bag in hand, and the door swings shut behind him. He freezes. A look of horror dawns on his face. He pats his empty pockets. The duffel bag is gone. He left it inside.

He tries the door. Locked.

0:46 - 1:10

INT. GAS STATION CONVENIENCE STORE - NIGHT

Ray approaches the bored CLERK behind the bulletproof glass.

RAY

Hey man, I locked my bag in the bathroom. You have a key?

The Clerk chews gum, unimpressed.

CLERK

Nope. That’s the only key. It’s in there.

RAY

You gotta be kidding me. My wallet… my pants… everything’s in there.

CLERK

(Shrugs)

Maintenance comes Monday.

Ray exhales, defeated. The funky bassline of "Slang Thang" kicks in fully as he walks back outside. He feels exposed, the thin jogging pants leaving very little to the imagination.

As he walks toward his car, a beat-up Honda Civic slows down. The driver, LISA (30s, pretty, with a recognizable "old flame" vibe), rolls down her window. She looks surprised, then amused.

LISA

Ray? Ray Delgado? Is that you?

Ray attempts a cool, casual lean against his Road Runner, but it comes off as incredibly awkward.

RAY

Oh, hey Lisa. Yeah, just… uh… coming from the gym.

An awkward pause. A DERANGED HOMELESS MAN is nearby, muttering angrily to a trash can. Lisa glances at him nervously.

LISA

Well… you look good. Take care, Ray.

She drives off, leaving Ray in a cloud of humiliation and exhaust fumes.

1:11 - 1:45

EXT. DRIVE-THRU - NIGHT

Ray pulls up to the brightly lit speaker box of a fast-food drive-thru. He’s third in line. The song's lyrics are now in full swing.

(MUSIC: "My slang is my thang, I'm Frankie Smith / And I've come to rock the house, I know you feel this")

The car in front of him takes an eternity. Ray’s patience is superhuman. He drums his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat, a calm smile plastered on his face.

Finally, he pulls up to the speaker.

DRIVE-THRU EMPLOYEE (V.O.)

(Static-filled, monotone)

WelcometotheSlangThangwhatcanIgetforyou?

RAY

(Smiling)

Yeah, can I get a Double-Dutch Deluxe combo, large, with a Coke?

EMPLOYEE (V.O.)

You want the wikka-wikka sauce on that?

RAY

Sure.

EMPLOYEE (V.O.)

That’s extra.

RAY

That’s fine.

EMPLOYEE (V.O.)

We’re out of wikka-wikka. We have zippity-zap sauce.

RAY

(Deep breath, smile unwavering)

…Okay.

EMPLOYEE (V.O.)

The zippity-zap is a 50-cent upcharge and it takes 90 seconds to prepare. You wanna wait?

Ray closes his eyes for a brief second, then opens them, his smile brighter than ever.

RAY

You know what? Surprise me. Whatever sauce you’ve got ready. And that’ll be great. Thank you.

He maintains this zen-like calm as he pulls forward.

1:46 - 2:15

EXT. DRIVE-THRU LANE - NIGHT

As Ray waits at the pickup window, head bopping to the music, we see Lisa’s Honda Civic parked near the restaurant entrance. She’s walking back to her car when the Deranged Homeless Man from the gas station appears, now more aggressive, blocking her path.

The man is shouting, getting in her face. Lisa looks terrified, fumbling for her keys.

Ray sees this. His cool demeanor breaks for a moment into genuine concern. He leans over and pushes the passenger door open.

RAY

Lisa! Get in!

She doesn’t hesitate, sprinting to the Road Runner and jumping inside.

LISA

(Out of breath)

Oh my god, Ray, thank you! He followed me!

RAY

It’s cool. You’re safe.

The drive-thru window opens. A pimply-faced TEENager hands Ray a large bag.

TEEN

That’ll be $11.47.

Ray smiles, reaches for his back pocket… and the smile vanishes. The reality of his situation crashes down. No wallet. He pats his jogging pants frantically. Nothing.

LISA

(Seeing his panic)

It’s okay, I got it.

She starts digging in her purse. The moment is intensely awkward. The Teen stares, unblinking.

Suddenly, Ray’s face lights up.

RAY

Wait! It’s cool. I got this.

He holds up his phone with a flourish, displaying a QR code for a payment app. He casually allows the Teen to scan it. A successful BEEP sounds.

RAY

(Smiling at Lisa)

See? Slang thang.

Lisa looks impressed and relieved.

2:16 - 3:00

EXT. DRIVE-THRU / PARKING LOT - NIGHT

A massive, tricked-out lowrider with dark tinted windows screeches to a halt right next to Ray’s car. The window rolls down to reveal LISA’S EX, CHAOS (40s, menacing, covered in cheap tattoos). He glares at Ray, then at Lisa.

CHAOS

Yo, LISA! Who this clown? You steppin’ out on me? You a pimp now, pretty boy? That’s my main squeeze!

LISA

Chaos, no! It’s not like that!

But Chaos has already pulled a chrome pistol. Ray’s eyes go wide.

RAY

Oh, you gotta be kidding me.

(MUSIC: The song's instrumental break intensifies, becoming more frantic.)

Ray slams the Road Runner into drive and stomps on the gas. The tires screech as he peels out of the parking lot. Chaos follows immediately, leaning out the window and firing a wild shot into the air.

3:01 - 3:30

EXT. CITY STREETS - NIGHT

A high-speed chase ensues. Ray’s Road Runner, a classic muscle car, handles the streets with raw power. Chaos’s lowrider is slower but handles corners like a go-kart. More wild gunshots.

Ray executes a dangerous drift around a corner, finally losing Chaos in a maze of side streets. He slows down, breathing heavily. Lisa is clutching the "oh shit" handle, terrified.

RAY

It’s okay. I think we lost him.

Just then, RED AND BLUE LIGHTS flash behind them. A police cruiser has appeared out of nowhere.

Ray looks in the rearview mirror, then at Lisa, then down at his ridiculous jogging pants. He sighs, the weight of the entire night finally hitting him. He pulls over slowly.

The police car’s lights illuminate Ray’s resigned face as he puts the car in park. He turns to Lisa with a weak, "can you believe this?" smile.

EXT. CITY STREET - NIGHT - CONTINUOUS

The police cruiser's spotlight floods the interior of the Road Runner. Ray rolls down his window, the funk of "Slang Thang" now just a memory, replaced by the tense hum of the engine and the static crackle of the police radio.

Two officers, OFFICER MILLER (30s, all-business, severe bun) and OFFICER REYES (20s, trying to look tougher than she is, but can't hide a flicker of amusement), approach the car, flanking each side.

OFFICER MILLER

License and registration, sir.

Ray offers his most charming, disarming smile. It’s a little wobbly.

RAY

Officers. Good evening. I can explain everything. There’s a slight situation with my license and registration.

OFFICER MILLER

(Face impassive)

That’s generally what I’m asking for, sir. The documents.

RAY

Right. Of course. So, the thing is… my wallet… it’s currently locked in a gas station bathroom about ten miles from here. Along with my pants.

Officer Reyes, on the passenger side, shines her flashlight into the car. The beam sweeps over Lisa, who gives a weak, terrified wave, and then down to Ray’s lap, where the thin grey jogging pants are prominently on display. Reyes’s lips twitch. She coughs to cover a laugh.

OFFICER REYES

Your… pants are in a gas station bathroom, sir?

RAY

It’s a long story. Involves a high-speed chase and a… a misunderstanding. But my license is valid! I swear. It’s just… on my other pants.

Officer Miller’s expression could freeze lava.

OFFICER MILLER

Step out of the vehicle, please, sir.

Ray’s smile finally breaks. He sighs and gets out. The cool night air feels particularly noticeable on his… well, on everything. He stands by the car, trying to stand in a way that is both non-threatening and minimally revealing. It’s an impossible task.

Officer Miller runs his information through the squad car computer. A long, agonizing silence hangs in the air. Lisa stares straight ahead, mortified.

Officer Miller walks back, her partner in tow. She holds up her tablet.

OFFICER MILLER

Mr. Delgado. Your story is creative, I’ll give you that. But the computer tells a different one. Your vehicle’s registration is six months unpaid.

RAY

(Spluttering)

What? No, that can’t be right. There must be a mix-up! I mailed that check. My… my accountant handles all that.

OFFICER MILLER

(Making no effort to hide her skepticism)

Your accountant must be as hard to get ahold of as your pants.

Officer Reyes snorts, then quickly turns it into another cough. Ray’s face flushes crimson. He can feel Lisa’s eyes on him. His manhood isn't just at stake; it's doing a full-on disappearing act under the glare of the spotlight and the officers' disbelief.

RAY

(Lowering his voice, pleading)

Officer, please. You have to believe me. It’s been a really, really long night.

Officer Miller looks from Ray’s desperate face, to the gorgeous woman in his passenger seat, down to his ridiculous outfit, and back to the hard data on her screen. She shakes her head slowly.

Leaning against the car, under the harsh police lights, Ray’s facade of control completely crumbles. He lets out a defeated sigh, his shoulders slumping.

RAY

Okay, fine. It’s… it’s not my accountant. My wife handles the bills. There must be some misunderstanding, I… I just assumed it was all taken care of.

The line hangs in the air, making the entire situation—the car chase, the woman in his passenger seat, his missing pants—a thousand times more awkward.

OFFICER MILLER

Turn around, Mr. Delgado. Place your hands on the roof of the vehicle. You’re being cited for evading, and this vehicle is being impounded.

As Ray reluctantly assumes the position, he catches Lisa’s horrified reflection in the window. He closes his eyes. This was not how this night was supposed to go.

[FADE TO BLACK]

(MUSIC: Song fades out with the final "Slang thang! Do it!")

Track 2: Triple Dutch

The courtroom hums with stale AC. Ray’s cheap suit wrinkles under sweat. Vanessa’s glare could freeze hell. Jason and Lily play "I Spy" with the bailiff’s mustache.  

JUDGE HERNANDEZ  

"Mr. Delgado, let's review your impressive resume of poor decisions today."  

"First—reckless driving under Vehicle Code section 23103. 'I was saving her' isn't a legal defense for treating city streets like your personal Fast & Furious audition. Thirty-day suspension, followed by ninety days restricted license. Next time? Dial 911, not your hero complex."  

"Second—failure to present license under 12951. You couldn't produce a license because—let me guess—your wallet was 'in your other pants'? Two hundred and fifty dollar fine. Pro tip: If you're going to play knight in shining armor, at least carry your damn ID."  

"And finally—expired registration under 4000. Six months overdue. Were you waiting for a singing telegram from the DMV? Three hundred dollar fine, plus impound fees. Consider this your very expensive reminder."  

"So, for the record: license suspended thirty days, restricted ninety after that, $550 in fines, and your car gets towed. Any questions about why you're walking home today, Mr. Delgado?"  

BANG—final gavel strike. The echo hangs as Vanessa facepalms in the gallery.  

The kids gasp—not at the verdict, but because Lily just won "I Spy."  

LILY:  

"Told you his mustache had ketchup in it!"  

_____

Golden light spills over the steps. Jason and Lily race ahead, reenacting the trial. Frankie Smith’s "Triple Dutch" plays from a passing lowrider—peppy, taunting.  

JASON:  

"Dad’s license just did a belly flop!"  

LILY:  

"And Mommy’s face is the diving board!"  

Vanessa’s grip on her keys turns knuckles white. Ray swallows hard.  

They pass a bus stop. A poster of a happy family grins at them like a cruel joke.  

RAY:  

"Vanessa, please. Lisa was being harassed. I just—"  

VANESSA:  

"Uh-huh. And her legs were in mortal danger when they accidentally climbed into your car?"  

——-

Jason and Lily now play "Divorce Court."  

JASON:  

"I hereby award Mommy all the money and Dad all the laundry!"  

LILY:  

"And this bear gets custody of Dad!"  

Their giggles sync with the song’s climax.  

RAY:  

"At least they’re… adapting?"  

VANESSA:  

"They’re auditioning for my legal team."  

——-

Ray’s driveway. The Plymouth Road Runner sits under a tarp, its chrome bumper peeking out like a scorned lover’s glare. Neighbors materialize like vultures in tank tops.  

NEIGHBOR #1 (CHUCK, GRILL TONGS IN HAND)  

"Damn, Ray. No summer burnouts? What’s next—soy milk in your coffee?"  

NEIGHBOR #2 (LENNY, HOLDING A 12-PACK)  

"Better learn the bus schedule, amigo. Heard they got vegan seats now—no leather, just vibes."  

Ray flips them off as he trudges toward the bus stop. Behind him, Chuck yells:  

CHUCK  

"Watch out for the free-range weirdos, Delgado!"  

——-

The bus stop bench is cracked like Ray’s dignity. A laminated poster advertises a "Yoga & Tarot Rage Cage" event. The bus arrives—painted in rainbows, bouncing on hydraulics to the bassline of a song that smells like patchouli and regret.  

KOMBUCHA MAN  

"This… is fermenting revolution. Want a sip?"  

RAY  

"I’d rather drink my suspension notice."  

CRYSTAL LADY  

"Your third eye is clenched. Like a… tiny fist of toxic masculinity."  

RAY  

"That’s just my headache from listening to you."  

The bus hits a pothole. The crystal thunks against the window.  

POET  

"The bus moves… like society… under capitalism… or maybe my dad… who left… for ‘cigarettes’…"  

RAY  

"I miss my car."  

The bus bounces again—hard. Ray’s phone flies out of his hand, landing in the lap of a goth teen eating vegan jerky.  

GOTH TEEN  

"Your Lock Screen is a parking ticket. Deep."  

Ray grabs it back. The screen cracks into a spiderweb of his life choices.  

RAY  

"Thirty days…"  

The bus speakers crackle. The driver—a woman with dreadlocks and a ‘I Brake for Astrology’ bumper sticker—yells over her shoulder:  

BUS DRIVER  

"Next stop: Existential Dread & Transfer Station!"  

Ray closes his eyes. Somewhere, Vanessa laughs.  

——-

Ray stumbles off at his stop. A passing lowrider—same one from court—blasts Frankie Smith’s "Triple Dutch" again, now twisted with irony.  

His phone buzzes. Text from Vanessa:  

VANESSA  

Kids want to know if you’ll take the bus to Lily’s recital.  

…It’s at a vegan community center.  

Ray stares at the sky. A single bird poops on his shoe.  

RAY  

"I get it. I’m the joke."  

The bus drives away, its hydraulics bouncing in time with his crushing reality.  

Track 3: The Auction

[SCENE START]

0:00 - 0:25

EXT. RAY'S HOUSE - MORNING

The "Triple Dutch" instrumental continues, but the mood has shifted. It's slower, more melancholic, a wistful reprise.

RAY leaves his house, lunchbox in hand. He stops on the front path, his eyes drifting to his tarp-covered ROAD RUNNER in the driveway. The tarp flutters in the wind, revealing a glimpse of the chrome bumper.

CHUCK and LENNY, his neighbors, are already in Chuck's driveway, polishing a ridiculously shiny sports car.

CHUCK

(Calling out)

Lookin’ good, Delgado! That bus-pass blue is your color.

LENNY

Yeah, matches your eyes when you’re about to cry!

Ray ignores them, but a pained memory flashes in his eyes.

DISSOLVE TO:

MEMORY - EXT. FAST FOOD PARKING LOT - NIGHT (FROM TRACK 1)

We see a quick flash of Ray pulling away from the drive-thru. He looks happy, in control. He glances back at the restaurant with a longing look—he really wanted that burger. That’s when all the trouble happened.

0:26 - 0:45

EXT. RAY'S HOUSE - MORNING - PRESENT DAY

Ray is back in the present, staring at his car. He looks down at the Road Runner with a tragic, dramatic resolve, mirroring Padmé's gaze in Attack of the Clones.

RAY

(Quietly, to himself)

I shouldn't've come back.

He turns and trudges toward the bus stop.

0:46 - 1:15

EXT. BUS STOP - DAY

Ray waits. A HOMELESS MAN is nearby, ranting at a lamppost.

HOMELESS MAN

Don't you look at me! This bus is only for them! The drug addicts! The gays and lesbians! The vegans and the sinners and the satanists! It's a rolling metal hell!

Ray stares straight ahead, trying to block it out. The iconic, funky bassline of "THE AUCTION" by Frankie Smith begins to kick in.

The DOUBLE DUTCH BUS arrives, bouncing aggressively on its hydraulics, its colorful paint job a stark contrast to the drab street. The doors hiss open.

1:16 - 1:40

INT. DOUBLE DUTCH BUS - DAY

Ray stumbles on. He fumbles with a handful of change, dropping coins on the floor. He tries to feed them into the fare box. It rejects them with an angry BZZT each time.

The BUS DRIVER, the same old Black woman from before, watches him struggle. She gives him a soft, knowing smile.

BUS DRIVER

Go ahead, child.

She hands him a transfer slip. Ray nods, humiliated but grateful, and moves down the aisle.

1:41 - 2:30

INT. DOUBLE DUTCH BUS - LATER

The bus is packed. The air is thick with the smell of body odor and faint, unpleasant feces. Ray is crammed against a window.

-   A MAN is staring at him unblinkingly, whispering nonsense to himself.

-   An easily offended FILIPINA WOMAN clutches her purse to her chest, eyeing Ray suspiciously.

-   People push and shove.

Suddenly, a FRANTIC WOMAN with a wild look in her eyes shoves a toddler into Ray's arms.

FRANTIC WOMAN

Hold him!

Before Ray can protest, she darts off the bus to retrieve another child she forgot outside. The bus doors close and the bus lurches into traffic.

RAY

(Panicked)

Hey! Wait!

He's now holding a confused toddler. The bus doesn't stop. The other passengers glare at him as if he's a kidnapper. The Filipina woman gasps, confirming her worst suspicions.

At the next stop, the Frantic Woman catches up, her nose bloodied from a fall. She bursts back onto the bus, snatching the toddler from Ray's hands.

FRANTIC WOMAN

(Screeching)

My baby! My baby! Get away from him!

Ray holds up his hands in surrender. As the woman storms off, Ray bumps into a group of GANGSTERS.

GANGSTER #1

Watch it, man.

RAY

(Tired, on edge)

You watch it.

They square up for a brief, tense moment before the bus lurches again, throwing them apart. Ray stumbles to the rear door and gets off at the next stop, desperate for escape.

2:31 - 3:00

INT. RAY'S LIVING ROOM - NIGHT

Ray sits in the dark, bathed in the flickering blue light of the television. On screen, a dramatic COURTROOM SHOW is playing.

TV JUDGE

So you're telling me, sir, that you neglected your responsibilities, leading to this entire calamity? The evidence is clear! You are GUILTY of gross negligence!

Ray clicks the TV off in disgust.

3:01 - 3:30

INT. GARAGE - NIGHT

Ray stands in the garage, sipping a mug of coffee, staring at his dormant Road Runner.

VANESSA enters, holding a stack of mail.

VANESSA

The checking account. The one you were supposed to manage for the car payments. It was closed, Ray. They never got the registration payment.

RAY

I thought you were handling it.

VANESSA

Don't you dare. I handle everything else. And while we're airing things out, who's Lisa? Your phone buzzed. "Thanks for the save the other night, from Lisa." An old flame, Ray? Really?

RAY

(Sighs)

It wasn't like that.

VANESSA

(Exhausted)

It never is. You can't start that car. Goodnight.

She leaves. The garage door closes, leaving Ray alone with his vehicle.

3:31 - 4:15

INT. GARAGE - NIGHT - CONTINUOUS

Ray gets into the driver's seat of the Road Runner. He places his coffee in the cupholder. The silence is heavy.

Then, the distinct, crowing ROOSTER CRY that opens "The Auction" is heard, slicing through the silence.

The song's intense, building intro begins. As the rhythm intensifies, Ray's fingers tighten on the steering wheel. With a sudden, defiant motion, he turns the key. The engine ROARS to life.

MUSICAL FANTASY SEQUENCE BEGINS:

4:16 - 5:45

EXT. CITY STREETS - NIGHT - FANTASY

The full force of "The Auction" erupts. Ray peels out of the garage, the Road Runner a blur of power and freedom. He weaves through traffic with impossible skill.

A POLICE CRUISER spots him. Sirens WAIL.

POLICE RADIO (V.O.)

(Via radio)

All units, be advised, suspended driver in a '72 Plymouth Road Runner. Do not let him get on the highway.

A high-speed chase ensues, worthy of Bullitt or Fast & Furious. Ray drifts around corners, ducks into alleys, and accelerates down wide boulevards, the lyrics of "The Auction" providing the funky, relentless soundtrack. He is a hero in his own mind, master of his domain, finally escaping the confines of his bus-riding reality.

5:46 - 6:00

INT. GARAGE - NIGHT - REALITY

The song ends with a final, funky beat.

Ray jolts awake. His head is against the steering wheel. The car is silent and cold. He never started it. The entire chase was a dream.

He lifts his head, the fantasy over. The hum of the refrigerator is the only sound. He picks up his cold coffee and gets out of the car, returning to his silent, grounded life.

[FADE TO BLACK]

Track 4: Double Dutch

[SCENE START]

0:00 - 0:20

EXT. DMV PLAZA - DAWN

A grey, monolithic building. A line already snakes around it. RAY stands at the back, clutching a manila folder. The air is cold. FRANKIE SMITH’s “Double Dutch” plays—a peppy, taunting contrast to his despair.

Ray checks his watch. 6:47 AM. He’s been here an hour. He practices his story under his breath.

RAY

(Mumbling)

"Financial oversight… clerical error… completely my fault, ready to rectify…"

A PIGEON stares at him from a concrete planter. Ray glares back.

RAY

(To the pigeon)

"What are you looking at? You don’t even have a license."

0:21 - 0:45

INT. DMV - DAY

The line moves at a glacial pace. The synth strings grow more anxious. Ray finally reaches the check-in kiosk. A tired-looking CLERK (50s, name tag: DOLORES) stares at a screen.

DOLORES

Number B-114. Take a seat. Average wait time is… (squints) …three hours and twelve minutes.

RAY

Three hours? But I got here before it opened!

DOLORES

(Deadpan)

So did they.

She gestures with her pen to the sea of humanity in plastic chairs. Crying babies, people arguing in languages Ray doesn’t understand, a man practicing tai chi in the corner.

0:46 - 1:30

INT. DMV WAITING AREA - DAY - MONTAGE

Ray sits. The song’s main beat kicks in—a funky, paranoid rhythm. Time distorts.

· Ray watches the number board. B-97... B-98... B-99... B-100. It jumps directly to B-112. He nearly screams.

· He overhears a TEENAGER failing his eye test.

  TEENAGER: "E... F... P... 7?"

  DMV EMPLOYEE: "It's a chart of letters, son. Not a bowl of alphabet soup."

· An ELDERLY WOMAN in line ahead of him produces a driver's license from 1957, laminated in what looks like Saran Wrap. The clerk accepts it.

· Ray’s phone dies. He stares at the cracked screen, his reflection a portrait of despair.

1:31 - 2:15

INT. DMV - COUNTER #12 - DAY

Ray’s number flashes. He springs up, tripping over a toddler. He stumbles to the counter. The AGENT (30s, STEVE, aggressively cheerful) smiles.

STEVE

B-114! What can we do to make your day awesome today?

RAY

(Forcing cheer)

Hi! I’m here to… reinstate my license. Suspension is up today.

Ray slides his folder across. Steve opens it, humming. His smile doesn't falter as he taps his keyboard.

STEVE

Mmmkay. Raymond Delgado. Suspension served. Check. Fees outstanding… let’s see… Reinstatement fee, late penalty, traffic school fee you skipped, a "I’d Rather Not" surcharge… just kidding on that last one. But the rest is $487.50.

Ray’s face falls. He pulls out his debit card.

RAY

That’s… more than I thought. But okay.

Steve runs the card. DECLINED. Steve’s smile becomes fixed.

STEVE

Mmm. Awkward. Try again?

Ray, sweating, tries. DECLINED again. The paranoid funk music swells.

RAY

(Whispering)

No, no, no… Vanessa…

2:16 - 3:00

INT. DMV - COUNTER #12 - CONTINUOUS

Steve’s cheerful facade cracks slightly.

STEVE

We take cash, check, money order, or severed limbs. Just kidding about the limbs. DMV policy.

RAY

(Panicking)

I… I have to make a call.

Ray steps away, fumbling with his phone. He calls Vanessa. It rings. And rings. Voicemail.

RAY

(Into phone, hushed)

Vanessa, it’s me. I’m at the DMV. There’s… there’s a hold on the account? Or it’s empty? I need… I need $487.50. Please call me back. I’m at the DMV. I look pathetic. Please.

He hangs up. He looks at Steve, who is now helping the person next in line. Ray’s spot is gone. He’s lost his place.

3:01 - 3:45

EXT. DMV PLAZA - DAY

Ray slumps on a bus bench outside. He calls his friend, MIKE.

MIKE (V.O.)

(Faint, over bad connection)

"Ray? You’re breaking up, man. You calling from a bus?"

RAY

Mike, I need a favor. A loan. Just five hundred bucks. I’m at the DMV, my card’s dead, Vanessa’s not answering…

MIKE (V.O.)

"Whoa, whoa. You and Vanessa fighting again? Dude, I can’t get in the middle of that. My Carol would kill me. Plus, I’m all in on CryptoKitties right now. Liquid? Nah, man.”

The call disconnects. Ray stares at his dead phone. The song hits its bridge—a moment of quiet, melodic despair.

He looks up. Across the street, he sees a QUICK CASH LOAN store. Flashing lights. “EASY MONEY!” The sign seems to pulse with the music.

3:46 - 4:30

INT. QUICK CASH LOAN - DAY

The air is thick with desperation and cheap air freshener. Ray sits across from a LOAN OFFICER (GUS, slick, too many rings).

GUS

So, Mr. Delgado. You need $500. For… DMV fees. Collateral?

RAY

I… I have a car. A ’72 Road Runner.

GUS

(Nodding, typing)

Title in hand? Lien-free?

RAY

Yes.

GUS

Great. We’ll hold the title. You get the cash. You pay back $650 in thirty days. Simple.

Ray hesitates. Handing over the title to his Road Runner feels like handing over a child.

GUS

(Leaning in)

Or, you can walk out that door. Take the bus. Forever. Let me guess… wife’s pissed? Kids embarrassed? Get your license back, Ray. Get your life back.

The music builds to a crescendo of temptation. Ray sees a flash of himself driving, free. He blocks out the sound of the bus, Vanessa’s disappointed face, the neighbors' laughter.

RAY

(Quietly)

Okay.

4:31 - 5:00

EXT. DMV - LATER

Ray walks back into the DMV, a wad of cash in his hand. He doesn’t take a number. He walks straight to Steve’s counter, where a woman is arguing about her height listing.

Ray slaps the money down on the counter. Steve looks up, startled.

RAY

$487.50. Let’s do this.

Five minutes later, Ray is holding a temporary paper license. He stares at it. It feels flimsy. Insignificant. The music has faded to a hollow, echoing version of its main beat.

He walks outside. The sun is too bright. He doesn’t feel victorious. He feels sick. He pulls out his phone, now charged from a DMV outlet. A text from Vanessa lights up the screen.

VANESSA (TEXT)

The bank froze the account. Someone tried to use your card for $500 at a “Quick Cash Loan” on 4th. Was that you? We need to talk. Really talk.

Ray looks from the text to his paper license, then across the street to the loan office. The weight of what he’s done—the lie he’s now living—lands on him fully.

He puts the license in his wallet. It feels like a lead weight. He turns and walks, not toward a bus stop, but aimlessly down the street, the hollow funk trailing him.

[FADE TO BLACK]

---

[SCENE START]

5:16 - 6:00

INT. CONVENIENCE STORE - DAY

The bell chimes. Fluorescent lights hum. Ray stands at the counter.

CASHIER

(Scanning)

Bus pass. Monthly. That’s $62.50.

Ray counts out the cash, the loan money already being spent on his cage. The cashier slides the bright orange pass across the Formica.

The door chimes again.

LISA enters, glowing, carrying a yoga mat. She spots Ray. Her eyes travel from his tired face, down to the neon bus pass in his hand. Her bright smile falters, replaced by a wince of profound pity.

LISA

Ray? Oh, honey. You’re really… doing the bus thing?

Before he can mumble a reply, the door bursts open. His neighbors, CHUCK and LENNY, enter on a cloud of cigar smoke and malice. They freeze. They see Lisa. They see the bus pass. Their eyes widen with unholy joy.

CHUCK

(Stage whisper to Lenny)

Look. He’s buying his ticket to Loserville. One-way.

Lisa, trying to be kind, makes it worse. Her voice is too loud, too sweet.

LISA

I heard about your license! That’s so unfair! You were such a good driver when you saved me from that… situation. A real hero!

The word “hero” hangs in the air, pathetic and small next to the orange plastic on the counter. Chuck’s grin could power the store’s lights. Ray’s reputation isn’t just ruined; it’s been packaged, labeled, and placed on the rack next to the beef jerky.

6:01 - 6:45

EXT. STREET / RAY’S DRIVEWAY - DUSK

Ray trudges home, the pass a brand in his pocket. From his driveway, he sees VANESSA through the kitchen window. She’s reading something on her phone, her hand over her mouth.

INT. KITCHEN - CONTINUOUS

Vanessa reads an email from Lisa.

LISA’S EMAIL (V.O.)

“…just wanted to say again how sorry I am. Raymond was so brave. A total gentleman, even with that homeless man who was, for the record, my CLIENT. He had no idea what he was stepping into. My knight in a Road Runner…”

Vanessa puts the phone down slowly. She isn’t angry. She’s heartbroken. The tragedy is too perfect, too complete. He didn’t lose his license over an old flame. He lost it playing hero in a misunderstanding, for a woman who was working. The absurdity of it is a physical weight.

6:46 - 7:30

EXT. BUS STOP - VARIOUS - MONTAGE

Ray’s new life. His sanity begins to fray at the edges, set to a slightly unhinged, looped version of the “Double Dutch” beat.

· MORNING: He debates with himself over which window seat offers the optimal blend of view and privacy, as if choosing a throne.

· NOON: He gives a solemn, silent nod to the Kombucha Man. A recognition passes between them. They are brothers in transit now.

· EVENING: He carefully aligns his transfer slip with the geometric pattern on the bus seat, then meticulously re-aligns it. It must be perfect.

7:31 - 8:00

EXT. SUBURBAN STREET - SUNSET

Vanessa stands on the porch, arms wrapped around herself. She watches Ray walk down the sidewalk toward the distant bus stop.

His walk has changed. It’s developed a slight, unconscious bounce—a physical absorption of the bus’s eternal hydraulic jounce. He is becoming what he rides. He doesn’t look back.

Her heart breaks not with jealousy, but with a vast, aching pity. He is her husband, a hollowed-out hero, a man slowly dissolving into the schedule and route of public transit, walking with a crazy, rhythmic step into the horizon.

[FADE TO BLACK]

(The final, cheerful notes of "Double Dutch" play, now sounding utterly, devastatingly empty.)

Track 5: Double Dutch Bus

---

(FADE IN: A modest suburban home. The sun rises. An alarm clock BUZZES violently. RAY, a disheveled, exhausted man in his 40s, jolts awake. He stares blankly at the ceiling, then groans.)  

KIDS (O.S.) (teasing)  

"Daddy’s gotta ride the bus! Daddy’s gotta ride the bus!"  

(HIS KIDS burst in, waving his revoked license. His daughter blows a raspberry. His son mimics a bus driver. RAY drags himself out of bed.)  

VANESSA (RAY’S WIFE) (kissing his cheek, handing him lunch)  

"At least you won’t be distracted by girls flirting at stoplights today."  

(RAY forces a smile. He grabs his lunchbox and heads out, defeated.)  

---

(RAY walks down the sidewalk, adjusting his tie. The beat kicks in. He starts singing, half-muttering.)  

RAY (SINGING)  

"Ho! ho! ho!  

There's a double dutch bus coming down the street  

Moving pretty fast  

So kinda shuffle your feet  

Get on the bus and pay your fare  

And tell the driver that you're  

Going to a Double Dutch Affair..."  

(Neighbors LAUGH at him. One mimes driving a car and speeds off. RAY sighs. He reaches the bus stop just as—SPLASH! A car hits a puddle, SOAKING him. He looks down at his ruined pants.)  

RAY (MUTTERING)  

"Shhhhhhhhhhh-sugarrrrr..."  

---

(A BRIGHT YELLOW BUS screeches up, bouncing on hydraulics. The doors fly open—INSIDE, it’s PACKED with BEAUTIFUL WOMEN in athletic gear, jumping rope, dancing, waving at him.)  

RAY (eyes wide, hands up in surrender)  

"Oh hell no..."  

(He steps on anyway. The women immediately swarm him, chanting the next part.)  

WOMEN (SINGING) (playful, teasing)  

"Hizzey, gizzirls! y'izzall hizzave t' mizzove izzout the wizzay sizzo the gizzuys can plizzay bizzasketbizzal!  

Izzsay whizzat? nizzo yizzou izzain't!  

Y'izzall bizzetter mizzove!  

(RAY stumbles down the aisle, overwhelmed. The women keep jumping rope around him. He finally collapses into a seat—then has a dark fantasy: He pulls out a GLOCK,  

Izzsay whizzat? willze illzain't millzovin'  

presses it to his temple, eyes twitching.)  

Shillzu-gillza! milzza nilzza bilzzaby!"  

---

(CUT TO: RAY at his warehouse job. A STUNNING RECEPTIONIST leans over the punch clock, singing seductively.)  

RECEPTIONIST  

"Whozzo?  

My gizzirl!  

Brillzing her izzin!  

Izzo kizzay!  

Izzall rizzight!"  

(RAY groans, punching in like a man sentenced to prison.)  

(MONTAGE: RAY operating a forklift, dead-eyed, while coworkers laugh. A "HELP ME" sticky note is stuck to his hard hat.)  

---

(END OF DAY. RAY stands at the bus stop, smoking a cigarette in his safety vest. The sun sets. He softly sings, half-smiling.)  

RAY (exhausted but amused)  

"Bip, bomp, bam alakazam  

But only if you're grooving  

With the Double Dutch Man..."  

(The DOUBLE DUTCH BUS returns, now even WILDER—girls hanging out windows, music BLASTING. The DRIVER, an old Black woman with a gold tooth, grins.)  

DRIVER  

"You survived, sugar. Get in."  

(RAY shrugs, tosses his cigarette, and hops on. Inside, he’s now ROLLING DICE with the gangsters, laughing as the bus BOUNCES into the night.)  

FINAL SHOT: The bus disappears into the distance, ropes still swinging.  

FADE TO BLACK.  

Track 6: Handbone

(The End Credits)

0:00 - 0:30

EXT. RAY'S DRIVEWAY - SUNSET

The screen is black. The first haunting, synth-drenched notes of FRANKIE SMITH'S "HANDBONE" begin—a slow, funereal, yet strangely funky dirge.

The black fades to reveal RAY DELGADO, standing perfectly still in his driveway. He’s staring at the tarp-covered ROAD RUNNER. He hasn’t moved in minutes. The wind rustles the tarp. The neighborhood is silent. Chuck and Lenny are nowhere to be seen.

VANESSA steps out of the house. She holds a set of car keys. She looks at Ray’s back, then down at the keys in her hand. She takes a slow, steadying breath.

VANESSA

Ray.

He doesn’t turn.

VANESSA (CONT'D)

The payment. To the loan place. It finally went through. I… I used the emergency fund. The one we swore we wouldn’t touch.

Ray’s shoulders tense, just slightly.

VANESSA (CONT'D)

The title is clear. You can drive. Worry-free.

She walks up beside him, not looking at him, but at the car. She reaches out and places the keys gently on the hood. They land with a soft, metallic clink. She leans in and kisses him softly, just once, on the cheek. A kiss of absolution. Or surrender.

She turns and walks back toward the house, stopping at the door. She looks back, waiting.

0:31 - 1:00

Ray remains frozen. The mournful, repetitive chant of "Handbone... connected to the... wishbone..." seeps into the scene.

Then, a miracle.

The crazy, hunted look in Ray’s eyes… dissolves. The permanent tension in his jaw unclenches. The slight, unconscious bounce from the bus schedule leaves his posture. He stands up straight. He turns his head and looks at Vanessa. For the first time in this entire odyssey, he looks… quiet. Present. Sane.

A slow, genuine, tired smile spreads across his face.

RAY

Hey. You wanna get some ice cream?

Vanessa’s stern expression melts into relieved surprise. A tiny smile touches her lips.

VANESSA

In that thing?

RAY

(Inhales the evening air)

Yeah. In this thing.

He picks up the keys. The metal feels alien and powerful in his hand. He pulls the tarp off with a single, fluid motion. The Plymouth Road Runner sits revealed, dusty but regal in the golden hour light.

1:01 - 1:30

Vanessa walks back to the car. Ray opens the passenger door for her with an old-fashioned gallantry that makes her laugh softly. He gets in the driver’s side.

He inserts the key. Turns it.

The engine doesn’t just start—it AWAKENS. A deep, guttural, healthy V8 roar that shakes the driveway and echoes through the suburb. It’s the sound of restoration. Ray closes his eyes, drinking it in.

He looks over at Vanessa, beaming. She’s buckling her seatbelt, a real smile on her face.

VANESSA

You know… we should get ice cream at that new place. The one with the crazy shakes.

RAY

Where’s that?

VANESSA

You know. That burger joint. "Slang Thang."

Ray’s smile freezes. Not into panic, but into a perfect, crystalline statue of trauma. The engine’s rumble is the only sound. The word "Slang Thang" hangs between them like a cursed incantation. All the chaos—the missing pants, Lisa, Chaos, the gunshots, the courtroom, the bus, the DMV, the loan—flashes behind his eyes in a silent, horrifying montage.

Vanessa watches his face fall. And then she remembers. Her eyes go wide with dawning horror.

VANESSA (CONT'D)

Oh.

Oh, no.

RAY

(Voice barely a whisper)

What?

VANESSA

Their… their ice cream machine is broken.

She says it like she’s announcing a death in the family.

Ray stares at her. She stares back. The absurd, cosmic weight of this final, petty injustice settles over them.

Then, Ray starts to laugh. It’s a small, disbelieving puff of air at first. Then another. Vanessa’s hand flies to her mouth, stifling a giggle that escapes as a snort. That does it.

They both erupt. It’s not happy laughter. It’s the hysterical, uncontrollable, tear-streaming, gut-aching laughter of survivors who have just realized the war is over, but the world is still hilariously, pointlessly broken. Ray pounds the steering wheel. Vanessa doubles over in her seat.

The Road Runner idles, rumbling patiently, as its owners laugh themselves breathless at the universe’s final, stupid joke.

1:31 - 2:30

EXT. SUBURBAN STREET - MAGIC HOUR

The car pulls out of the driveway. It doesn’t peel out. It rolls smoothly, calmly, down the street. Ray drives the speed limit. He uses his turn signal. The car is a purring beast on a gentle leash.

They pass the bus stop. The bench is empty. Ray doesn’t even glance at it.

Frankie Smith’s voice rises in the mix, the song building from its mournful base into something stranger, more triumphant, and profoundly weird—a celebration of surviving the nonsense.

THE MUSIC SWELLS. THE CREDITS BEGIN TO ROLL.

The scene shifts to a stylized, VHS-tape credit sequence. The footage is a montage of the Road Runner driving into a technicolor sunset, but the credits are superimposed in glorious, gaudy 80s graphics.

THE SONG DOMINATES. FUNKY. TRIUMPHANT. ODD.

---

ROLL CREDITS:

DOUBLE DUTCH BUS: A MUSICAL ODYSSEY ABOUT LOSING YOUR LICENSE

STARRING

RAY DELGADO............ Himself (A Broken Man)

VANESSA DELGADO........ The Voice of Reason (And Emergency Funds)

LISA................... The Catalyst (And Part-Time Life Coach)

CHAOS.................. The Antagonist (And Lisa’s Ex)

OFFICER MILLER......... The Law (Unamused)

OFFICER REYES.......... The Law (Barely Containing It)

JUDGE HERNANDEZ........ The Gavel of Fate

WITH SPECIAL APPEARANCES BY

CHUCK................... The Neighbor (Grill Master)

LENNY.................. The Neighbor (12-Pack Philosopher)

KOMBUCHA MAN........... The Prophet of Fermentation

CRYSTAL LADY........... The Guardian of the Third Eye

GOTH TEEN.............. The Vegan Oracle

THE POET................ He Who Mourns His Father’s Cigarettes

DOLORES................. DMV Gatekeeper

STEVE.................. DMV Enthusiast

GUS.................... Loan Shark (With Rings)

AND FEATURING

THE DERANGED HOMELESS MAN....... A Client In Crisis

THE FRANTIC WOMAN................ A Mother Of The Year Candidate

THE UNBLINKING MAN............... He Knows What You Did

BUS DRIVER............. The Conductor of Souls

MUSIC BY

FRANKIE SMITH......... Who Saw It All Coming

TITLE CARD DESIGN BY

CARL STUNER

SCRIPT SUPERVISOR

MELBA TOAST

KEY GRIP

BUCK NAKED

GAFFER

PHIL McCRACKEN

CATERING BY

"SOUP OF THE DAY" (It’s Always Clam Chowder)

VHS ART DIRECTION

LANCE STERLING

MORAL SUPPORT

THE PIGEON FROM THE DMV

LEGAL CONSULTANT

DEWEY, CHEATEM & HOWE

THERAPY DOG (UNUSED)

MR. WIGGLES

IN MEMORIAM

THE WIKKA-WIKKA SAUCE

RAY’S DIGNITY (BRIEFLY, 1979-2023)

WRITTEN, DIRECTED, AND EDITED BY

THE GHOST OF SUMMER 1981

THANKS TO

EVERYONE WHO EVER MISSED A BUS

EVERYONE WHO EVER PAID A LATE FEE

EVERYONE WHO KNEW BETTER BUT DID IT ANYWAY

---

2:31 - END

FINAL SCENE

The credit montage ends. We’re back in real time.

The Road Runner is parked outside a generic, well-lit grocery store. Ray and Vanessa are walking out, each carrying a simple, half-gallon tub of store-brand ice cream—Vanilla and Chocolate.

No fancy shakes. No wikka-wikka or zippity-zap. Just ice cream.

They get back in the car. Ray starts it, the rumble once again filling the night. He doesn’t drive off immediately. He looks at Vanessa. She’s already digging a spoon into the vanilla.

She offers him the first spoonful. He takes it.

They sit in the parking lot, in their resurrected car, eating cheap ice cream in comfortable silence. It’s not a happy ending. It’s a quiet one. The battle is over. The bus doesn’t matter anymore.

Ray puts the car in drive and heads home, driving carefully, obeying all traffic laws.

THE SONG "HANDBONE" FADES OUT, leaving only the gentle rumble of the engine and the soft click of the turn signal.

FADE TO BLACK.

AtilA