INT. – SALOON – DAY

Swinging doors creak as Lucca, 23, steps inside. Piano music stops. Chatter quiets.

His boots clink on the wooden floor as he steps towards the bar.  

He pulls a faded degree from his back pocket and slaps it onto the bar:

“Bachelor of Business (Communications) / Bachelor of Arts (Advertising)”

He sits down, and takes his hat off.

The BARTENDER looks at it, nervous.

He pours a shot and slides it across. His eyes dart worryingly to a poster hanging behind the bar:

“LUCCA GROSSI. COPYWRITER. WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE”.

Lucca smirks and shots his whiskey.

He stands up and places his hat back on his head.

A crowd of bounty hunters blocks the exit. Hands twitching over holsters.

The room tenses.

THE END

LUCCA

I’ve never stayed in the same place long. No town was ever big enough. I liked a bit of everything. Fishing. Cooking. Music. Photography. Always chasing more skills, more experiences. I’ve tried a lot of things… but none could tame me.