Fast Lane | ✔️

5

Ch5

Miller sat at the cast aluminum table and stared at his laptop, sucking in a breath. Normally, sitting on the large patio with the sound of the ocean in the background gave him a sense of peace, but this time that was not the case.

This screenplay was going to be the death of him if he wasn't careful! Not only was creating the script for Runaway an extremely daunting project, researching it came with its own set of headaches -- headaches he hadn't been anticipating. The thought of going undercover and learning about life on the streets had seemed like an exciting adventure at first, but when the time came to actually go out and do it he found it laced with danger . . . and some very sad stories. From the very beginning he'd learned this project was going to be different, and not only because it was his movie -- his baby -- but he quickly realized it would be life-changing on many different levels.

He'd met dozens of teenagers living under bridges and sleeping in doorways since he began the endeavor six months ago, some as young as twelve-years-old. He still had a hard time wrapping his mind around that startling discovery. How someone could choose to leave their family at such a young age completely baffled him. How bad must it have been at home to make a child want to live on the streets alone, panhandling and God knew what else, for the little bit of money they made to sustain themselves? The thought made him sick.

Miller made a silent promise to do something about it. In addition to his own hard-earned money, a large portion of proceeds from Runaway, assuming there were any, would go directly toward helping the homeless teenagers and runaways that littered the crowded city streets. It was the very least he could do. Often times, he felt more than a twinge of guilt over the privileged life he lived. Now that he knew there was an intense need for programs to help these wayward fugitives, he planned to make it his mission to pay it forward.

One runaway in particular had caught his eye, and he had grown to feel deeply protective of her. He'd met her his first day out, walking the dirty, destitute streets alone. She was a precocious girl, going on fourteen-years-old at the time, and had been living on her own for almost a year. He'd first met her hanging out near the corner of Highland and Hollywood Boulevard, in front of the famous "Frederick's of Hollywood" lingerie store. Other than her age and a few vague facts, the only thing he really knew about her was her first name. Marie.

She shared the same old story so many of the street kids harbored; ran away from home to escape an abusive stepfather and strung-out mother who never paid her the time of day. Shed hitchhiked from Utah all the way to Hollywood in search of "the promised land". God forbid! Hollywood would be the last place he would run off to if he were a thirteen-year-old girl trying to make it on her own. The very thought was ludicrous! But that's exactly what she had done. He clearly remembered the first day they had met.

"Hey -- you got a cigarette?" a young voice asked, interrupting his train of thought. He looked up from the discarded newspaper he'd been reading to find luminous, brown eyes watching him closely.

"Uh . . . No, sorry," Miller said to the girl.

A cherubic face framed by a mass of ebony curls stared back at him. "What about some pot?"

He studied her, dumbfounded, not sure he'd heard her correctly. "Excuse me?"

The girl's eyebrows hitched together in disbelief. "Pot. You know. Ace, Hooch, Mary Jane?"

Was this girl for real? "Sorry, I don't have that, either."

The teenager stared at him as though he'd grown a third eye. "You're kidding me, right? Look, dude, I don't your stash -- just a little hit, that's all. I promise. Come on, help me out, would ya? Someone jumped me the other day and swiped mine. I've been without for awhile now and just need a quick fix."