And this tableaux of urban fantasy becomes an airbrushedimage painted on a vinyl RECORD. Hands flip the LP over.TARA Sing your breakbeat, baby. Make us what we wanna be.EXT. JUNKYARD -- NIGHTPLOP the record on the rubber...TARA Take us where we get to fly.Two state of-the-art turntables.Watch TARA, DJ diva, work her beats in the back seat of ajunked out CONVERTIBLE. Though of Indian descent, she’s wildand she’s American.In her DJ booth, she’s five-cars high. All around her, junkyard cars are stacked to the sky. Stadium perches for the rogue crowd..This is THE UNDERGROUND.Two bookies, PEACHES and STEVIE-CEE, race through the crowdtracking bets. Money and marks traded by lightening hands. A SALSA LOW RIDER rolls up. Tricked and trimmed. A ghettochariot.CHICO at the wheel. Latin. Tough as rocks. Peels off a bennyfor Peaches.WOW riding shot-gun. Asian. Tricky and fast. Makes it twohundred.The duo are the leaders of
e- one of the hood’s warring gangs. A mixture of Latinos and Asians. Theunderclass.Peaches heads across the pit and we meet
s. Archenemy of the former.WEED- Pale rider on a chopper. The captain. Next to him,DOUBLE-GUN- cool style of a buffalo soldier. Always carriestwo silver pistols. Whirls and twirls those guns. He’llpistol whip you quick or blast with the barrel. Just dependson his mood.