So there's this sci-fi flick from 1992, right? But it has, one of the bestest monologues ever for a movie set in the future AND on Earth. That being said, let me describe the scene...

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After jumping from the bridge in grand fashion, the man from the past had to swim for it. Alex Furlong, a man captured before the moment of his own death by a group from the future, gropes the concrete of a long abondoned waterside dock and starts to climb up, coughing out the toxic Hudson River. A warmly dressed man of about 30 years of age, sits in old easy chair, a few feet from the panting wet man, eating meat from a foil lined hubcap. "Of all the strange things that could get washed up on this dock...", he chuckles.

Alex slowly pulls himself besides the bright eyed homeless man, unaware of his presence. Grabbing his stomach Alex professes to the Lord of hosts, "I'm beat."

"Think so?" He then spots a stern looking black man glaring at him with eyes of gentile curiosity.

"Yeah, pretty much." Alex is still out of breath, lying on his side, covered in incurable disease. Much dirtier than before he took the plunge from a moving service truck. Doing 70 mph. And yes, into the river. His previous work experience in the 20th century had saved his life, not taken it, as so many would have thought. But they were eco-hippies, mostly. His escape was narrow; his time in this future, harrowing.

"Then you're beat", the cheerful homeless man states before returning to his dinner using his fingers. "A man thinks he's beat, he's beat. You want some of this?"

"What is it?"

"River rat."

Furlong shakes his head and averts his gaze as he continues to catch his breath. "How the hell do you eat river rat?" He sits up against the concrete quay and looks over his left shoulder at the dining indigent.

"First ya gotta cut off the head and the tail. And then you gut it." Smiling as he sucks the meat from a set of micro-ribs. "And then it's all a matter of the sauce. Huh! You just don't plop down, bore a rodent on a plate, and say, 'Here's your river rat. Whaddya like red wine or white with it?' Not that there's any wine around here anyway. Haven't seen any wine since the Ten Year Depression." The man eyes Furlong briefly as a matter of concern, "Look if you want me to, I can whip you up one. This is good eatin' rats."

Immediately, "No." It came out of his mouth full of woe and desperation, tinged with a dignity, not seen by many in this 3rd world version of America. Furlong had been an Indy car driver, just over a day ago. The last meal he had before the race, was probably not so freshly killed.

The homeless man's grinning softened as Furlong checked his Glock, a present from a nun, whose church was close to his former residence. He found strangers living in his aprtment, barricaded and well armed against the natives of the lower East side. Alex grips the gun near his haggard face, barrel up, "Man, it's come down to this. What's the point?"

From his seat, the man's eye's brightens and starts to laugh heartily and strong. As he jumps up to put aside his dinner hubcap, "He riddles me the ancient riddle! Ha, ha, ha what's the point, ha ha!"

Just as the man composes himself back into his easy chair, he turns suddenly to Furlong, eyes wide and hands splayed near his own face. All look of good humor has left him, replaced with an earnestness uncomfortable to them both. "Have you ever seen an eagle flying back to his home with dinner for the missus and all the little eagle babies? And he's flying against the wind. And he's flying in rain. And he's flying through bullets and all kinds of hell. And then, right at that moment, when he's about to get back to his nest he says, 'Ha! What the fuck! It's a drag being an eagle!' And right then, two little 'x'es comes across his eyes, just like in the old fashioned cartoons, and he goes plunging down, and down, and DOWN...." The homeless man's voice peaks, never taking his eyes from Alex Furlong.

After a brief pause the shabbily dressed man in the chair continues, "..and BAM!" Alex jumps slightly, glaring at this intelligent stranger. "It's just a splatter of feathers... and then we don't have.. a national bird of America.., no more." A rueful smile blooms on his face and in his voice, "Did'ya ever see that?"

Looking away, pondering this unexpected question, "No." His eyes meet the stranger's again.

"Me neither!", a gust of laughter and good cheer escapes the storyteller, as he picks up his dinner from the dock. "Eagles got too much.. self respect...." Glee turns to dourness on the man's face, "How's yours?"

Flinching, Alex gets to his feet painfully, staring at the new 200 floor building towering over lower Manhattan. "I'm okay." Some strength and determination is now visible on the fugitive's face.

"Then you too can fly. He,he you can flyyy!", flapping his free hand like a bird's.

"Maybe I can." Furlong seats the pistol in the front of his plague-ridden pants, glances respectfully at the man a final time, and departs carefully away, past the other homeless of New York City.

"You ain't beat yet Furlong. Not by a long shot."

Unbeknowest to Furlong, a sizeable reward of 10 million had been advertised in the tri-state area for his safe capture. All who saw the fugitive from another time on the dock that evening knew it. This man was to have been mentaly erased, so his body could've been the vessel for another man. A very rich man, whose identity would be kept secret until after the mind transplant was complete. Alex Furlong was a man on the run and a hero to the domestic refugees of America.

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Freejack - c.1992 Alex Furlong - Emilio Estevez Eagle Man - Frankie Faison
Described by: VicariousE, no infridgement intended.

Update: Wow. Never thought a server program could dish out some seriously strange-ass glitches (human aided o course). So this is what that icing on the pie is all about - http://www.newgrounds.com/bbs/topic/12 80174