INT. ABANDONED BAKERY – DAY

FRANK and LOUIS stand ten feet apart, panting, surrounded by overturned pie tins and flour in the air like smoke. A chalkboard behind them reads “Annual Pie-Off.”

FRANK
(screaming)
APPLE CRUMBLE! TWO CUPS FLOUR, A STICK OF BUTTER, HALF A CUP OF BROWN SUGAR! BAKE AT 375 FOR THIRTY MINUTES!

LOUIS
(screaming louder)
STRAWBERRY RHUBARB! THREE STALKS, TWO CUPS STRAWBERRY, CORNSTARCH TO BIND—AND YOU KNOW I DON'T SWEETEN!

FRANK
(foaming slightly)
YOU FOOL! YOU NEED THE SUGAR! A TABLESPOON OF LEMON JUICE TO ENHANCE THE TANG, YOU DUNCE!

LOUIS
(his eye twitches)
MY CRUST IS FLAKIER THAN YOUR FAMILY TREE! CHILLED BUTTER, ICE WATER—NO OVERMIXING! YOU RUIN THE GLUTEN, FRANK!

FRANK
(screeching like a banshee)
I FREEZE MY DOUGH, THEN BLIND BAKE WITH CERAMIC BEANS, YOU FILTHY CUSTARD-FOR-BRAINS!

LOUIS
(sputters blood, then rallies)
BANANA CREAM! WITH REAL VANILLA! TEMPER THE EGGS OR IT’S SCRAMBLED—LIKE YOUR MIND!

FRANK
(staggers)
PE-CAN! NOOOOOT PEE-CIN! CORN SYRUP IS A LIE! BROWN BUTTER ONLY—AAARGH!

He clutches his chest. LOUIS steps forward, triumphant.

LOUIS
(softly now)
...Lattice top. Egg wash. Coarse sugar. Victory.

FRANK collapses face-first into a still-warm lemon meringue pie. Dead.

Beat. Silence. Then, the CORONER enters, sipping coffee.

CORONER
(dryly)
Third one this week. Must be peach season.

He begins tagging the body.

FADE OUT.