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INT. SAFF’S FLAT. DAY
Saff drinks coffee and looks through the job section of the newspaper. Alex is rummaging through cupboards. Pulling out boxes of cereal.
ALEX
You want any of this?
SAFF
I don’t eat breakfast.
ALEX
(pouring himself a bowl)
No?
SAFF
Breakfast is a meal that only rich people have time for. If I want breakfast I want the whole works, I want an old etonians breakfast buffet cart. Wild smoked salmon and bagels, I want sausages and bacon and black pudding, any edible part of a pig actually, grilled and fried to crispy perfection. I want free range eggs laid by the kings own hens, I want wild mushrooms scoured from forest floors, and vine ripened tomatoes. There would be tea hand picked by the softest, delicatest asian princesses, and fresh coffee ground between a Sumatran elephants’ buttocks. I want to sit and gorge myself, making business deals over the financial times, before going upstairs to the board room, and shagging my nubile young secretary. Whereas, in reality, what are you offering?
ALEX
(holding up the box)
Crunchy Nutty Cornflakes.
SAFF
The prosecution rests.
ALEX
(Through a mouthful of cornflakes)
When’s your interview?
SAFF
Half ten. I’m shitting myself. It’s in Farringdon for fucks sake. Land of the Lattes.
ALEX
You know what the secret to success in an interview is?
SAFF
What?
Alex pushes the box of Crunchy Nutty Cornflakes across the table.
ALEX
Good breakfast.
SAFF
Oh fuck off.