suicide rates go up

another plausible screenplay:

Wynston was a loner, but his head was full of a vast array of knowledge. He had long gray hair that hung off his head like a coat thrown over a chair. He was a product of the hippie culture of the 1960s. This 64 year old man was taking his van down the Oregon coast, on a trip he made regularily to visit his friend in Eugene. Before the altitude hike through the Cascade mountain region, Wynston stopped to check under the hood of his van at a gas station. At the gas station was a school bus full of high school cheerleaders dressed in camoflauged mini-skirts stopping to buy some licorice on their way to a competition. Also at the gas station was a lone cyclist who had a mysterious air about him that Wynston noticed as he filled his tires. He was on the road before Wynston could get a second look at him. About an hour later Wynston took to the road, climbing the pavement up through the Cascades listening to a song about a woman named cocaine when he saw the lone cyclist making a turn down a dirt road with a sign beside it that said "viewpoint." Wynston smiled and drove on, when moments later a gunshot echoed through the trees. Wynston turned to the direction of the viewpoint where dark silhouetted birds flew overtop of a bright full moon.