A guy who’s dad is a boxer and feels strongly for parkour because it helps him express himself. He lives alone with his dad. His father wants him to pursue boxing as a career, but he wants to pursue parkour as a career. His dream is to make it a sport; make it recognized. His father is against it – wants him to carry on parkour because it’s a “man’s game’
His father once bets on a batch. He loses the match and ends up being indebted to the mafia and being close to bankruptcy. Therefore, his son joins an illegal parkour tournament in which the winner receives a large amount of money. The one who loses the tournament loses his life as well.
He then faces another problem: another mafia leader bets on him, one that wishes for him to lose. He rigs the game to make him lose. But the protagonist dodges this and winds the tournament. He saves his dad, causing his father to realize his son’s true potential and allows him to pursue his dreams.

(He is sitting on top of a roof. This can be upstage left, on a high block of some sort. The block should be painted to look like the shingles of a flat roof. The background should be cold grey buildings in order to show his gloomy life. The buildings also show that he is in a city, where one would do parkour. He is wearing a generic tee shirt, track pants, sneakers and an open hoodie to show that he is ordinary and middle class. There faint sounds of cars honking, people yelling, general city sounds can be heard.)SAM: (enters, with a weary look on his face. Shoulders sagging. Walks towards the edge and stands right at the edge. He scans the audience, as though he is scanning the streets and buildings. Then he sits down, with his legs dangling off the edge of the roof. Stares out at the audience wistfully, with a faraway look in his eyes) Parkour. ............................................................
(Suddenly shakes his head and snaps out of his trance) But no, instead, I’m here. Living another day. Just like yesterday. And the day before. And all the days before that. (sighs, and pulls his legs up to his chest) But what can you do about it, hmm? Nothing, that’s what. (runs his hand through his hair in a frustrated manner) I mean, I don’t even.. I just... I just wish I could be free! Free to pursue what I want. Free to pursue parkour if I wish to. Not stuck in this hellhole! Stuck in this place where I have to work like a dog every single training to be a goddamn boxer, despite hating every minute of it. Just to bring my old man some peace. That’s what he always tells me, yknow. (Puts on a mocking deeper tone) I’m getting old, son. It would make me so happy, let me die a happy death, to know you’re up there with all the other men. (Gets up in frustration.)
(Loud) Well what about me, huh! Don’t I deserve some happiness to? Or am I destined to live as a mongrel, fighting with others for my nest meal! (paces) He doesn’t understand. I wish he did, but he doesn’t.
(Stops. Stares out to the audience) Sometimes, it think they do it on purpose. They sit there, tall and almighty, looking down on me and my pitiful life, mocking me. You wish you were running free here, don’t you Sam? They sit there and tempt me, make me wish I was there on that great grey expanse... but no. I’m stuck here.