02: FREDDIE ISSUES AN APOLOGY

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        JUNE 2ND, 2014 – 11:55 AM, EASTERN STANDARD TIME

        SAVANNAH, GEORGIA

        THE SAVANNAH GAZETTE HQ

The Savannah Gazette is run by two small town shopkeepers by the names of Lula and George, a pair of remarkably close and remarkably old twins, both of whom are absolutely shocked to find that two teenagers are interested enough in the printed word to march all the way through the hot, Savannah sun to ask for an ad in their paper (a notion they thought had been lost among the youth since that “damn Angry Birds came out.”)

The notion seems preposterous, they both must admit. It must’ve been ‘99 – no, ’97, Lula reminds her brother – since they last posted a “help wanted” ad. We don’t get many interested folks, he had said. People don’t really care for local newspapers anymore, now that everything’s digitalized.

“Well, this is very important,” Emme insists diligently, sliding over the envelope with the ad inside, along with the required $20.15 it costs to print it. Spencer stands dutifully at her side, though he could be thinking of eight million things he’d rather be doing. They could be in their favorite coffee shop right now, air conditioned and breezy, sipping cool drinks from brightly colored straws – but no. Emme’s seemed to make it her mission to locate this Darin McDowell, whoever he might be.

Lula smiles and eyes the envelope from her graciously, “Thank y’all so much. I’ll be sure to print this in next week’s paper, now, all right?” She says in a patronizing sort of way, her voice slick with a heavy Southern drawl.

Emme’s eyes widen briefly, her fingers clutching desperately to the counter, “Um, no. I think there’s been a mistake. I need this printed ASAP.”

“Oh, ASAP?” Lula says, alarmed. She looks towards her brother, “Looks like that’s gon’—”

“—Be an issue, darlin’,” George finishes sorrowfully. “We’re usually daily, but we just don’t got the money. Nobody’s buyin’ from small, local businesses no more.”

Lula looks towards the sky in prayer, “Lord, strike that Obama where he stands!” She whispers.

Emme frowns, already made slightly uncomfortable; yet, she doesn’t flinch. “And I’m sorry. But isn’t there any way that we could get this out earlier? It’s very important that I get a response as soon as possible.”

“Well, you never know with these things, darlin’,” he sighs. “Depends on the person who’s readin.’ What kinda ad are you puttin’ out, anyway?”

“I need three people to drive to San Francisco with me and my friend to find my pen pal,” Emme says, her face remaining stolid throughout. The moment after her words leave her lips, she’s immediately met with a look of concern. She sighs, “He’s missing,” she attempts to justify.

Trying not to judge, Lula’s face still nearly screams with disapproval, the creases in her forehead cutting into her skin like knife marks. “Well, hon, a response to that could take ages. I don’t know many folks—”

George’s lips are set in a stark look of worry, “—Who’d be willin’ to make that trip.”

Spencer, who’s remained silent up until this point, lets out a monstrous sigh, grabbing his friend by the arm. “Emme, can we just go? I knew this wouldn’t work out,” he says, though he’s immediately met with fervent resistance on her end as she nearly rips her arm clean out of its socket.

“I’m not leaving,” she tells him, insistent. Her eyes lock onto the shop owners like heat sensing lasers, “I can’t emphasize how important it is that I do this.

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