Three men sit in a train car cautiously speaking Spanish. JAMIE, a twenty something student is holding a book and remaining only half engaged in the conversation; ANDREAS, a thirty something international professional and by far the most vocal; MAX, a late twenties Romanian is gregariously trading life stories with Andreas . Spanish is their only common language. The train screeches into Oswiecim, Poland, a town better known for the location of the famed Nazi death camp, around midnight. Snow is gently falling all around the train. Suddenly the calm is broken by the a thirty something Pole garishly sticking his head through the door. The stench of beer rolls off of him into the car.
CONRAD: (in English) Can I sit in here?
ANDREAS: (in Spanish) Yes, sit down.
CONRAD: (in English) You guys don’t speak English, you are Spanish?
ANDREAS: (in Spanish, to the other men) He seems a little drunk, we must have caution now, hopefully he will leave soon.
MAX: (in Spanish) He seems crazy.
The three men all laugh nervously.
JAMIE begins speaking English with CONRAD to calm the nerves and explains a little about himself. ANDREAS and MAX are still speaking Spanish, occasionally making references to CONRAD.
MAX: (to ANDREAS, in Spanish) What happened to your Arm? (Indicating the cast enveloping ANDREAS‘s right arm)
ANDREAS: (in Spanish) Oh, nothing much. I was messing around, slipped, and fell, and CRACK. (laughter by all). (in English) BUT, it would be pretty good in a fight. (ANDREAS mimes a punching motion)
CONRAD: (in English) No, that wouldn’t be good in a fight. THIS would be good in a fight!
CONRAD whips out of his jacket pocket a small nine millimeter pistol and brandishes it toward the cabin ceiling, unintentionally pointing it at several of the other men. In his wild gesticulation, he jostles his now empty beer bottle onto the ground. Laughing hysterically, he replaces his pistol into his jacket as the rest of the coach goes dead silent.
No sleep is had until CONRAD departs the train.