Doesn't Anybody Car/e?

Marcus: You can call me Marcus. I am a car.

(Shot of a man driving a 2003 Brown Honda Civic)

Marcus: I cannot speak. I cannot communicate in any way. Despite my wishes, my thoughts are mine alone; they are trapped within the very confines of my existence. I am a car.

(The 2003 Brown Honda Civic stops at a red light)

Marcus: The man, the driver, uses me to take him from place to place. I have no say. I go where he steers me.

(The 2003 Brown Honda Civic takes a free right turn at the light)

Marcus: You get used to it. Like it or not, it’s what I was made for. Sometimes, I pass others and wonder, “Do they think as I do? Are they equally trapped, equally muted in their steel-frame bodies?”

(A car passes the 2003 Brown Honda Civic)

Marcus: But I’ll never know. I’m just a car. Life is passing me by as I pass it by.

(The 2003 Brown Honda Civic pulls into a gas station)

Marcus: Loneliness is my unseen passenger.

(The driver gets out of the car and goes into the gas station)

Marcus: My driver likes coffee and peanut butter cups. He wears suits on Sundays and he often forgets his briefcase. He likes talk radio. That’s all I know about him.

(The driver comes back and starts up the 2003 Brown Honda Civic)

Marcus: I like him okay, I guess.

(The driver pulls out of the parking lot)

Marcus: I wish he knew more people. Another passenger would be nice. Any change of pace.

(It starts to rain)

Marcus: How long will I be here? How long is this going to go on?

(The 2003 Brown Honda Civic drives a generic, uneventful street)

Marcus: Sometimes I hope the driver will get into an accident. I don’t want him to get hurt, I just wonder if I’ll be able to feel anything. Even pain would be something.

(The 2003 Brown Honda Civic drives through a mud puddle and gets covered in grime)

Marcus: I’ve never cared about being clean. That was always the driver’s thing. But now, when I get dirty, he doesn’t seem to care. I guess I kinda miss the caring.

(The driver, crying, stops at the Golden Gate Bridge. He steps out and jumps off. The 2003 Brown Honda Civic remains in Neutral with the driver’s door open)

Marcus: He’s not coming back. I’m so alone. Maybe a car will hit me. Maybe it’ll hit me and push me over the bridge. I wanted to come too, driver. I wanted to come too.

(A teenage gang member gets into the 2003 Brown Honda Civic and drives off)

Marcus: I’m being stolen. I don’t know how to feel.

Later:

(The 2003 Brown Honda Civic is in the bottom of a gully, stripped of its wheels, grill, seats, steering wheel etc.)

Marcus: No one will find me. No one knows I’m gone. I just want this to stop. Why am I here if I can’t talk, can’t even scream?

(It gently starts to rain. From the top of the gully, two teenage boys take aim and start firing their bb rifles at the 2003 Brown Honda Civic.)