INT. HOME OFFICE - NIGHT
EVAN (27) stares off into the distance, lost in thought when -- his sleep-deprived eyes widen. They dart to the laptop in front of him. The BLANK PAGE taunts him.
BLANK PAGE
You don't have s**t.
EVAN
Don't you have a Turing test to fail?
Evan laughs to himself. Chugs the last of his herbal tea and enters a typing frenzy. Beads of sweat stream down his face. A percussive symphony rises from the keyboard with every click and clack. Soon -- he stops. Exhales. And smiles.
The Blank Page is dead.​​​​​​​
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