This very first ever eBook created on Facebook, Twitter and Blogspot simultaneously!, “Real Men, Real Case's, Real Life Heist’s The Dope Feign Shuffle,” the entirely true story Cover to cover, Beginning to end, Word for word, Page to page, Edit to edit, right down to the very last One Wrong Word: Began April 27, 2013 to Present By Mark Anthony Given. 4/27/2013 7:26:07 AM Copyright2013 All Rights Reserved
Poverty is the mother of all crime. -Marcus Aurelius
They added this to the pile of other banks I waltzed out of. This only happened four or five times. I didn't get the money, but The New Orleans Cops didn’t get me either. On the List of “Worst Places to Be in the World,” The Orleans Parish Prison is consistently high on the List.
INT. BANK LOBBY. DAY. AM
Mark is seen at the teller window with a stern middle aged, gray haired women.
Isn’t there something you can check?
Alright, hold on.
The teller is seen looking at the computer and then goes into a back room and comes right back out without making eye contact. She returns to Mark and is seen counting out the money and then walks over to the computer on the back counter and begins fanning the keyboard with the money.
Is there something wrong?
No. The computer is hot; it will be just a minute.
Mark is seen looking around concerned.
Yeah, just deposit that, I got to go.
It’ll be just a second?
EXT. BANK .DAY.
Mark is seen leaving the bank quickly but not urgent. We follow Mark thru the parking lot, into the next business parking lot, cuts thru parking lot into the next street over we begin to hear police sirens in the background as Mark disappears around the corner before seen removing clothing items.
EXT. MID-CITY-NEW ORLEANS.DAY
From a distance, we see a young man without a shirt, black shorts and black running shoes and head phones. Looking like many in the upscale neighborhood. As the jogger appears we see it is Mark with sunglasses, smiling he runs right past us. Hot and sweaty we notice for the first time how seriously rock hard he, we feel him go by but noticeably absent of draft. Light sweat, breathing thru his nose we follow him a half a block where he quickly stops, and without looking around, we see him bend down and pick up a set of keys next to the tree in the plants. The tree lined street is lined with upscale cars as we approach we can’t see thru the tinted windows, we hear the car purr to life and quietly disappear into traffic.
(Excerpted From an original screenplay Split Deposit)