(Intro music, hip hop. Lights up on a high wall upstage, high as possible, topped with coiled razor wire.
Becky enters. She is in her late teens, inappropriately dressed for what appears to be a remote place: short skirt, high heels etc. She carries a large bag. Music fades to sound of seagulls, urgent and continuous. She puts the bag down and removes a dead seagull with obvious distaste. She checks it carefully, adjusting the elastic bands round its body. She looks about cautiously, then makes a bad attempt to hurl it over the wall. It falls back. She picks it up and tries again, maybe she has a third attempt but finally it vanishes over the wire.
Wesley, a shadowy figure in a hooded jacket with the hood up, comes on, stops at the edge of the stage. We hardly see his face.)

WESLEY: You done it?

BECKY: Yeah… You could have helped me Wesley.

WESLEY: Ain’t helping him in there… He’s too slippy…
(He turns away. Becky hurriedly packs her bag.)
You coming or what?

(Becky hurries up to him and takes his arm though he doesn’t offer it or seem to notice when she is holding it. They exit.
Blackout, then bright lights up, but different from before. We see now the base of the wall has a margin of litter: plastic bags, sports shoes, bits of clothing and bedding. We are on the other side of the wall, in the yard of a high security Young Offenders Institute.
Tyrell (which he and some others pronounce as Ty-rell) enters. He is white, in his early 20s, dressed in prison uniform of grey sweatshirt and cheap blue jeans, hanging low on his hips revealing considerable amounts of boxer shorts. Periodically, he has to haul them up. He sweeps the line of rubbish forward slowly with a broom. He looks back off stage more than once. He appears to be waiting for something to happen. He looks closely at the rubbish, then shades his eyes to look up at the wall because the sun is hot and bright.