The scene opens to the interior of the Brick Squad Compound. Laid out across the couch is Carson Waters and seated across from him in a dope ass leather recliner is Bruce Blingsteen. Playing in the background on the stereo is Ziggy Marley, one of the many children of the famous reggae singer Bob Marley. Bruce leans up in the recliner and then reaches towards the table situated in front of him and grabs a hold of a bottle of Vitamin Water. The contents of the bottle are a deep red almost maroon. The label on the outside says XXX açai-blueberry-pomegranate. Bruce unscrews the plastic cap, sets it down on the table and takes a big gulp of the beverage, downing almost half the bottle before putting the cap back on the top and then gently placing the bottle back on the table.

As that is going on Flynn Andrew Cole-Ericson walks into the scene dressed in his typical weekday clothing. T-shirt, shorts, sandals. Flynn walks over to Bruce and Carson and throws two small pieces of paper down at them.

"What are these?" Asks a fairly stoned Bruce.

"Take a look at them." Replies Flynn with a somewhat awkward smile.

"Bro I asked you so I didn't have to look at them. I am relaxing my eye muscles."

"Yeah bro, man, respect his eye muscles." Carson chimes in from the couch.

"These my friends are VIP tickets to tonight's L.A Lakers Official Draft party down out in front of the LA Convention Center Complex and the Staples Center." Flynn says as he holds up his ticket.

"Oh shit son. We gone be partying with the Lakers? You think Kobe is gonna be there?"

"He's supposed to be. That's what my guy said anyway."

"Awesome. Be right back."

Bruce jumps out of the chair like he were shot out of a cannon and races upstairs. Loud noises can be heard from below as Carson and Flynn continue their conversation.

"Wait you got a guy, what guy? Why you got a guy?"

"Yeah bro I got an agent."

"Agent? What do you have an agent for?"

"Well I needed someone to manage my finances and what not."

"Isn't your mom the President of a bank?"

"Yeah. So?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all."

"Found em!" Bruce exclaims, now standing behind both Flynn and Carson. In his hands are a pair of sneakers, a rather small pair of sneakers to be exact.

"Dude did you just jack up some kid for his shoes?" Carson says laughing. Flynn swings his head around to see Bruce holding a pair of shoes that look like they would fit a high schooler.

"What? No ass. These are mine. From when I was younger. They are the very first pair of officially licensed Kobe Bryant shoes I ever owned. The Nike Zoom Air Huarache 2K5. I got em when I was 10."

"Your feet were that big when you were 10 years old?" Asks Flynn with a curious look on his face.

Bruce holds the shoes up to eye level, inspecting them for a moment. "No way bro. I never wore these. These were just for show."

"Who the hell buys shoes just for show? I thought Flynn was the spoiled one."

"Don't look at me bro, the only thing I ever bought and never wore was a rubber."

"Whatever man."

"Anyway, what are you doing with those?"

"Isn't it obvious, I'mma get my main man Kobe to ink these babies."

"Oh come on, what are you 12?"

"Yeah bro. I don't think we should be asking the Lakers for autographs while we are at their party. That seems a little, I don't know... childish."

"Says the kid whose been an adult for like 20 minutes."

"Bite me."

"So let me see if I am hearing you correctly." Carson says as he pulls himself up from a laying position to that of a seated one. "You are going to bring a pair of sneakers with you to a party, carry them around all night long until you see this Kobe Bryant guy and then you, a 21 year old adult is going to ask him to sign them?"

"That's right."

"Sounds awesome. What can I do to help?"

"What?"

"Who am I to stand in the way of this man's dreams? In fact, you should be asking him the same thing. You are supposed to be the nice one, why aren't you asking him how we can help him out?"

"I am giving you guys the tickets isn't that enough?"

"A sharpe." Bruce shouts, interrupting the back and forth between the tag team partners.

"What's that?"

"A sharpie. I need to find a sharie for him to use on the shoes."

"Oh right, duh. I got one of them upstairs. Check by the window I was using one earlier to put my number on the back of my business cards."

"Business cards? What business do you have?"

Bruce doesn't even wait for a response, instead he turns around and bolts upstairs like he was the Road Runner trying to get away from the Wylie Coyote.

"That's another story for another time." Carson responds with a half crooked smile. "Say Flynn how many of those tickets you got anyway?"

"Five."

"Oh so Henry and Dick are coming too?"

"Nope. I asked them. Dick said he had some power yoga session to go to and Henry said something about needing to find himself."

Whatever the fuck that means.

"So then what are you going to do with the other two tickets?"

"Well I am fixing to take this chick I met on campus and as for the other one..."

"The fat chick? You're taking the fat chick?"

"Fat chick? Where?"

Chk Chk!

A recently returned Bruce says. The sneakers tied together by their laces and hung across his left shoulder and a shotgun in hand.

"Whoa what the hell are you doing with that thing?"

"You said a fat chick, this is my fat chick repellant."

"A shotgun?"

"Yeah man. I don't fuck around when it comes to fatties."

"Calm down Bruce. I'm not taking the fat chick. And honestly guys you shouldn't call her fat. That's really mean. Her name is Sarah."

"Well if you aren't taking the fat chick who are you taking?"

"A girl I met the other day. Name's Chelsea."

"She's a whore."

"What? Why would you say that?" Flynn says with a look of disgust on his face.

"Because every Chelsea I've ever met was a raging whore."

"How many Chelsea's do you know?"

"That's not important. What's important is that this chick is probably a whore."

"Better than being fat."

"Guys...come on."

"We're just trying to look out for you. With your parents gone we are responsible for you."

"They aren't dead just a couple hours away. And I'm not a child."

"Ok buddy. Whatever you say. So what time does this thing start?"

"4:30."

"PM?"

"Yeah bro. PM."

"Shit that's in like 6 hours. How the fuck you gonna tell us about a party and only give us 6 hours of prep time?"

"Seriously?"

"Na bro I'm just fucking with you. You never said what you were planning to do with the other ticket."

"Oh that. Yeah well you two can rock, paper, scissors for it or we can give it to the hottest chick we find outside the building."

"If by hottest chick you mean the one most likely to let me and Bruce Eiffel Tower her than yeah I'm game for that."

"Ok, well you two figure it out and just let me know what you decided. We gotta pick up Chelsea at her place at 5:15."

"Sounds good."


5:50 - L.A. Lakers Draft Party - Downtown Los Angeles

"And the 4th pick in the 2015 NBA Draft belongs to...the New York Knicks."

The gathering of people, some Lakers players and personnel, others just fans of the team or people fortunate enough to score a ticket erupt in cheers as the Knicks receiving the 4th pick in the draft now assures the Lakers of a top 3 pick in next month's draft. The Lakers, one of the worst teams in the NBA last year have a chance at landing a franchise saving player, a fact that most of the folks at the party are well aware of.

As the camera fades in we see Flynn Andrew Carson-Ericson, Carson Waters and Bruce Blingsteen huddled around a small circular metal table about 5 feet in height. Covering the table are various alcoholic beverages.

"Oh shit, do you know what this means?" Bruce asks as he pounds his rum and coke.

"Not in the slightest."

"It means that the Lakers aren't going to be totally awful last year. I told you we should have gotten tickets for next season. I bet we could have gotten floor seats cheap with how bad they were."

"My Dad's firm has floor seats. Five I think. I don't think they really use them much. Mostly they just give them out to prospective clients."

"What? You have access to floor seats and you never told us? What kind of friend are you?"

"Sorry bro. Didn't realize it was such a big deal."

"Not a big deal? I'm standing here with sneakers I got when I was a kid in hopes of getting Kobe to sign them and you don't think this was a big deal?"

"Well I do now, I didn't before today. I'll give my Dad a call and ask him about the tickets."

"Call him. Call him now!"

"Yeah Flynn Call him now." Carson chimes in unsolicited. Drawing a look from his tag team partner.

"I'm not calling him now. We are at a party, drinking free booze and rubbing elbows with Hollywood A Listers."

"Speaking of rubbing elbows what the hell is that Chelsea chick you brought?"

"Where you been bro? Kobe's people came over here like 10 minutes ago and said Kobe wanted to see her, so off she went."

"Told ya she was a whore."

"Yeah looks that way. But it is Kobe after all. You know how that guy is around white women."

"Hold up. Hold up. Hold the fuck up. That skank you brought with you is off getting analy violated by Kobe Bryant and you didn't even give her my sneakers to get signed. What the fuck is a matter with you Flynn?"

"Sorry Bruce. I didn't mean to be so selfish. I'm sorry that the girl I brought ditched me for Kobe Bryant and in that moment of disappointment I didn't think to ask her to take your sneakers with her so that after Kobe was done shooting his little basketball players all over her back she could kindly ask him for his autograph. You're right bro. I'm a terrible person. How can I make it up to you?" Flynn says as he destroys his drink and then proceeds to take Carson's and down his as well.

"What the F man?"

"Seriously Bruce, do you want me to take your sneakers and see if Kobe's people will let me get his autograph under the "You just cockblocked me so the least you could do is sign my buddies sneakers" clause?"

"Damn bro. No need to get so vile. I didn't even know you knew the word cock."

"Seriously dude. You didn't need to steal my drink like that. There are plenty of other drinks to go around." Carson says as he looks at a table filled with empty drinks. "Garcon...Garcon." Carson says to no one in particular while also snapping his fingers in the air.

"I don't think they answer to that bro."

"We'll see won't we?"

"Oh shit, that Commish guy is back on the screen. He's going to announce who has the next pick."

The camera pans to the left, now focusing on a massive projection.

"The third pick in the 2015 NBA Draft belongs to...the Philadelphia 76ers."

Another loud cheer from the crowd. After a few seconds of thunderous cheers a "Number 1, Number 1" starts to make it's way throughout the crowd.

"Oh my God!!!! We're getting the number one pick bro. I can't believe it."

The cheers and chants go on for a few more seconds until the man on the big projection screen, NBA Commissioner Adam Silver begins to speak again.

"The second pick in the 2015 NBA Draft belongs to...the Los Angeles Lakers."

This time the crowd reactions with a mix of boos and cheers. Truth is everyone is excited that the Lakers are picking two slots above where they were projected but when you get that close to the top pick people can't help but be a little disappointed.

"Son of a bitch. So close. Welp, now that thats over let's go to a titty bar."

"What? The lottery thing may be over, or just about over but this party doesn't end until like midnight."

"For real? Nice. Whatever happened to that slit we gave our extra ticket to?"

"Probably having a threesome with Kobe and Flynn's girl."

"Come on man."

"What? She's clearly a whore. I can call her that now."

"Oh yeah, she definitely is. I just meant it's a little too soon to be throwing that back in my face."

"There is no such thing as too soon."

"I need another drink."

"Wait a second, how are you even drinking at all, you aren't old enough? Momma Flynn would be so disappointed."

"Yeah man. Disappointed. I should probably call her right now and tell her."

"You don't have my mom's number."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Dick."

"Yeah, that's who I got it from."

"Oh whatever."

Flynn shoves Bruce backwards right into a wall. Bruce just bounces off the wall and shoves Flynn right back. Meanwhile Carson is still snapping and calling for a waiter...in French. Bruce and Flynn both step forward to each other and it looks like they might come to blows when a server shows up and unknowingly get's between the two.

"Can I help you gentlemen?"

"Yes. I'll have a Red Bull and Vodka. A rum and coke and a milk for my friends here."

"Milk?"

"Yeah, milk. You know, whole, 2%, 1%, skim, almond, soy etc."

"We don't have milk here."

"Ok, fine a water."

"He's kidding. I'll take a Whiskey Sour."

"Hey how about you ask to see his ID?"

"Are you kidding me?"

"I'm just the server not the bouncer. I get paid to serve drinks not card people." The young lady fires back at Carson before heading off to presumably fulfil his drink order.

"Not cool bro."

"Someone had to do something to stop you two from having a slap fight. Now, come back to the table, calm down and let's enjoy the free booze. Then we can go back to the compound and get wrecked. Who knows, maybe Chelsea will come back with us and we can run a train on her."

"No thank you."

"Fine. Be that way."