INT. AIRPORT – DAY
A busy airport arrivals area, just past immigration. People are coming through in files, and heading towards the baggage claim. JOHN WATSON, a tall, muscular man with a blond crew cut enters, wearing army fatigues, looking around with caution. A WOMAN approaches him from behind.
WOMAN: Hey, soldier boy. Thought you could run away from me?
JOHN WATSON: (smiles mirthlessly) Hey, uh... Linda, was it?
WOMAN: You remembered!
JOHN WATSON: How could I forget. I'll have those bruises for a while; you'd think they'd make the toilets a little taller (winks).
WOMAN: I wanted to give you this. (smiles, pulling a piece of paper out of her pocket) Here. My number.
JOHN WATSON: (looks at it, squinting) California, eh?
WOMAN: 'Fraid so. Look me up if you're ever in Fresno.
JOHN WATSON: I will. (Pecks her on the cheek.) Thanks for making my flight a little more interesting, baby.
WOMAN: (giggles, then grows serious) You'll be all right, won't you? I've heard some bad things about the situation out there in Afghanistan... (She rubs his shoulder, and JOHN WATSON winces.)
JOHN WATSON: (stepping away) Yeah.
WOMAN: (turning towards him, yelling) Hey... what's it like?
JOHN WATSON: (not turning) War? (takes a cigar out of his pocket and lights it up, to the protest of nearby security guards) War is hell, baby. (Exits.)