THE YOUNG SOPRANOS (TYS) "MEMENTO MORI " PART 1 (NEWLY EDITED TEXT)
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THE YOUNG SOPRANOS —
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The Young Sopranos
(#TYS)
“MEMENTO MORI” —
PART 1 (I–XVIII)
Created
By J. Beck
2026
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“A Prince therefore, being compelled knowingly to adopt the Beast, ought to choose the Fox and the Lion.
Because the Lion cannot defend himself against snares, and the Fox cannot defend himself against Wolves.
Therefore it is necessary to be a Fox to discover the snares, and a Lion to terrify the Wolves.
Those who rely simply on the Lion do not understand what they are about.”
Niccolò Machiavelli
The Prince (1532)
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DUMBO, NYC — Spring 2017
“This is NYC’s Q104.3 FM — I trust you’re getting where you need to be with the ‘Morning Rush.’ Traffic is at a standstill. It’s utterly miserable out there. So slow it down and ‘Take It Easy.’ Let’s all get where we’re going safe and sound! I hope you’re somewhere dry with a hot cup of coffee and brought an umbrella with you today on this raw, drizzling Monday morni—
Now we’re going to play for you, to start this first day of a new week, one of the most iconic songs from the vintage era of Classic Rock in the early 1980s. A song made by the American band topping Billboard’s Hot 100 Singles. It is from the band’s 8th studio album, Escape, released July 31, 1981 on the Columbia label.
https://youtu.be/1k8craCGpgs?si=toRtzuakdqtp3ByM
"Oh No.--Not today."
(CLICK OFF)
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Slapping, frantic sounds of overworked windshield wipers hop and drag back and forth across a steamy, rock‑chip‑cracked windshield. They resist the friction between the streaky, scratched glass and the hanging, weather‑rotted rubber wipers in the indifferent spring deluge ushering out winter.
Meadow Soprano smacks the peeling foam covering of the off‑center steering wheel with both hands.
“Goddamn it!”
Frustrated and half‑awake, Meadow is running late. She’s stuck in the NYC A.M. rush, trapped in an accident‑caused traffic jam on the freeway. She has no coffee and no cigarettes.
She stares at the flashing radio clock giving the wrong time. Meadow glances at her wristwatch.
“Fuck.”
“This car is such a piece of shit,” she sighs, running her fingers through her wet, shower‑damp hair as the dashboard LOW FUEL light flashes on.
“Come on,” she whines to herself. “What else can go wrong?”
Her cell phone screen goes black — LOW POWER.
“That’s just fucking great!” She throws it into her purse.
---
Meadow (Soprano) Weiss
Meadow is a public defender. She’s late for an appointment at the local police precinct jail to meet a new client:
Jack Black, a retired military special‑ops veteran arrested and charged with the murder of a homeless man.
---
Jack Black
Entering a silent, sound‑insulated interrogation room from the noisy precinct corridor, Meadow carries a small foam cup of jailhouse coffee and her dripping, folded umbrella. She stands it in the corner behind the heavy green steel door to dry.
Without looking up, she removes her laptop and yellow legal pad and sits opposite her new client at the long wooden table.
“I apologize, Mr. Black, for my tardiness, but—”
“You are late.”
“Yes, I see that,” Meadow says. “I guess I am late.” She glances up at the loud‑ticking oversized wall clock, then down at the dead black screen of her phone, then at her late grandmother Livia’s old wristwatch. She sighs. “Well, Mr. Black, I’m here now.”
But when Meadow finally looks up at her new client — Jack Black — face to face, she freezes.
“Is there something wrong, Ms. Weiss?” Jack Black asks.
Meadow stands straight up out of her chair, covers her mouth, and bolts for the door. She struggles to open the heavy green door, nearly panicking, and dashes across the freshly mopped hallway into the women’s restroom.
She runs past a female police officer washing her hands and into an open stall, where she loudly vomits.
---
Sgt. Stella Brewster
“Oh my,” the officer says, following Meadow into the cramped stall.
She kneels beside Meadow on the floor in front of the porcelain toilet, holding her up, brushing her fallen hair from her pale, sweaty face, quietly cradling her.
“Morning sickness?”
Meadow peers up with red, watery eyes.
“I sure hope the fuck not.”
“Come on, let me help you up, dear.” The officer practically lifts her.
“You’re so strong…”
“Here, let me wipe your face with this cold, wet paper towel. Better?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, dear.” She leads Meadow out to sit in a hallway chair. She instructs the guard to return the prisoner to his cell while she collects Meadow’s belongings.
Meadow doesn’t look up when Jack Black is escorted out. She stands to receive her computer bag and damp umbrella.
“You’ll need this,” the officer says warmly.
“Yes. Thank you. Good day.”
---
II
“This is WNYC‑FM 93.9 Public Radio with breaking headline news: The UN warns the world is facing a humanitarian crisis in Yemen, Somalia, South Sudan, and Nigeria. Twenty million people are at risk of starvation and famine.”
“Oh, that’s horrifying.”
(CLICK OFF)
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SATRIALE’S MEATS
Meadow leaves DUMBO for Jersey, taking the tunnel under the Hudson River to visit her Aunt Janice at Satriale’s Meat Market in Kearny. She finds her little brother, Anthony Soprano Jr., sitting outside at a small round table with a plastic red‑and‑white checkered tablecloth.
Meadow grabs the tablecloth.
“Plastic? How tacky.”
---
Anthony John (AJ) Soprano Jr.
“Hey, Sis. Yeah, it’s Janice’s idea — to save money, I guess.”
“It sounds more like she’d rather throw them away than wash them.”
“What are you doing?” Meadow asks.
A.J. holds up a fat, drippy Satriale’s sandwich smothered in coleslaw.
“Eating.”
“You’re always eating.”
“Yeah, I’m hungry. I just finished shooting a round of golf at the Skyline Course under the Jersey Bridge between rain showers.”
“You golf? Since when?”
“Since high school. I took it as a gym credit to avoid running.”
“That sounds like one of your moves.”
“Yeah — the lesser of two evils.”
Meadow leans over and kisses A.J.’s cheek.
“What’s that for, Bing?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Just finish your sandwich. Where’s Janice?”
A.J. wipes his mouth. “Inside, on the phone. Why?”
“Oh… just girl talk.”
“What? Are you pregnant?”
“No! Thank you.” Meadow spins around, grabs the front door, then stops. “Hey, A.J.?”
“What?”
Meadow flips him off and sticks out her tongue.
“Fuck you!” she laughs as the doorbell rings behind her.
---
Janice
Inside, Meadow interrupts Janice on a phone call. Janice waves her in and covers the receiver.
“Hey, Bing! What’s up?” She glances at the wall clock. “Damn it — I’m on hold!”
“Can we go somewhere and talk?”
“Is something wrong, honey?”
“I don’t know.”
“Okay, wait.” Janice listens. “Music.” She slams the receiver down. “Asshole! Let’s go.” She takes Meadow’s arm and kisses her cheek.
Outside:
“See you, A.J.”
“Bye, Bing. Don’t be a stranger, Sis.”
Meadow asks, “Who’s the ‘Madman Across the Water’?”
“Who?”
She points. “Him.”
“Oh — that’s Paulie Walnuts.”
“Dad’s old friend? Wearing a bathrobe and slippers?”
“Yeah. He thinks he’s ‘The Chin.’”
“Who?”
“Never mind. He’s in trouble with the Feds and he’s using mental illness to avoid trial.”
“That’s terrible. Mental health is a real issue in this country, and he’s making a mockery of it. No wonder it isn’t taken seriously.”
Janice gives her a look.
“Hungry?”
“Yeah. Sure.”
“For what?”
“Vanilla milkshake.”
“Oh, that sounds good.”
“And salty French fries.”
“That doesn’t sound good.”
“But it is.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“You should try it.”
“No thanks, Bing.”
---
III
At the diner, Janice watches in horror as Meadow dips hot, salty fries into her milkshake.
Meadow licks a drip running down her arm.
“What?”
Janice shakes her head.
Meadow pulls out a long fry. “Oh, it’s a fat one.” She grins. “Here.”
Janice reluctantly opens her mouth. Meadow feeds her the dripping fry.
“Chew it and swallow. You can’t spit it out.”
Janice coughs, laughs, covers her mouth, and swallows.
“Well?”
“It’s… okay, I guess.”
She reaches for another. Meadow slaps her hand.
“Get your own.”
“Just one more.”
“Okay — one more. That’s it.”
They laugh.
“So, Meadow, what’s bothering you?”
“You won’t believe this.”
“Try me.”
“I saw Daddy’s murderer today.”
“What did you say?”
“I saw the man who killed my father. Face to face.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes — no — I don’t know. It happened so fast.”
“Where?”
“At the precinct jailhouse.”
“Did he recognize you?”
“No. I don’t think so.”
“How do you know?”
“I don’t.”
“But I had to run out of the room to puke in the restroom.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry, Princess…”
“When I finished barfing, a female officer helped me and had the prisoner taken back to his cell.”
“What are you going to do, Bing?”
Janice dips another fry in Meadow’s milkshake.
“Stop — dip it in yours.”
“I have the right to decline the case. Another attorney would be assigned.”
Janice asks, “So what’s his name? What was he charged with?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
“Why not?”
“Because I swore an oath. Confidentiality between client and lawyer.”
Janice realizes she struck a nerve.
“It’s probably not the same person anyway. Let’s eat.”
“I’m not hungry. I’ll be in the car.”
---
IV — DUMBO, NYC (Spring 2017)
Meadow leaves Jersey, crossing the bridge overlooking the Skyline Golf Course A.J. played earlier.
“And you think you know somebody? Go figure.”
She’s so steamed over Janice’s questions that she forgets to get gas. Her car sputters, slows, and dies on the roadside.
“You piece of shit — START!”
It won’t. She’s out of fuel.
“Damn it!”
She bangs the steering wheel. Her fault — but she blames Janice. She turns on the hazard lights, digs out her dead phone, and tears stream down her cheeks.
“I want my Daddy.”
Flashing red and blue lights appear behind her. A police officer approaches through the rain.
Meadow lowers the window halfway.
“What is the problem here?”
---
Sgt. Stella Brewster
“My car is dead. I ran out of gas.”
“Driver’s license, registration, and proof of insurance, please. Stay inside your vehicle for your safety.”
Meadow nods.
When the officer returns:
“Do you know the world is facing a humanitarian crisis with over 20 million people at risk of starvation and famine?”
“What?”
“Oh, nothing. I ramble when I’m stressed.”
“There’s a problem,” the officer continues.
“What kind of problem? Besides being stranded in a ditch on a pissy night?”
“Your registration expired six months ago. Your car must be towed to the impound yard. You’ll need renewed registration and to pay all fees before it can be released.”
“That’s just fucking great. How am I supposed to get home? Walk?”
“No, Ms. Weiss. If you have no one to call, I’ll transport you home.”
“You’ll do that?”
“Yes.” She checks the license. “DUMBO?”
“Yes. Thank you, Officer.”
“It’s my duty, Ms. Weiss. I swore an oath to honor, serve, and protect the public. Grab your umbrella — you’ll need it. More rain is coming.”
In the backseat, Meadow studies the security features.
“I’ve never been in the back of a police cruiser before.”
“That’s good.”
“But I saw my late father in the backseat once. From the outside. Wearing his bathrobe, slippers, and handcuffs.”
“I don’t believe handcuffs will be necessary, Ms. Weiss.”
“Please call me Meadow, Officer…?”
“My friends call me Sting. Here we are — DUMBO.”
---
V
Meadow enters her dark apartment. The answering machine blinks. She strips off her wet clothes inside the door.
“What a fucking day.”
She opens the refrigerator, naked in the cold light, grabs a wine cooler, and sits at the bar with a cigarette.
(BEEP)
“Hello, sweetheart — it’s Aunt Barbara. We’re proud of you. Come see us. Love you.”
(BEEP)
“Meadow. It’s your mother, Carmella. Remember me? Call me.”
Meadow mouths, “Call me,” and drinks.
(BEEP)
“Hey, Bing, it’s Aunt Janice. Could you at least tell us what precinct that man is being held at? Butch wants to know. Call me. Love you.”
Meadow exhales smoke.
“What is her goddamn problem? And who the fuck is Butch? What doesn’t she understand about no? I knew I shouldn’t have told her anything. What is wrong with me? I need to get laid.”
The next morning, her alarm fails again. She throws it away, discovers she’s out of coffee, smokes, charges her phone, calls off work, and takes a cab to rent a car so she can go to Hyle Towing & Salvage Yard in the Bronx.
At Hyle:
“My car was towed here last night.”
“Weiss?” the man says, checking. He stares at her until she clears her throat.
“Towing fee is $500 with 24‑hour storage. But you’ll need renewed registration and insurance before we can release it.”
“I don’t want it back. It’s junk.”
“Well, Ms. Weiss—”
“Ms. Weiss. Thank you.”
“Oh. Sorry. If you junk it here, there’s no fee. In fact, we’ll issue you a $500 check.”
“Works for me. Show me where to sign.”
“We’ll need the title. It’s in the glove box.”
“Perfect.”
He hands her a hard hat.
“Insurance companies rule the world.”
Inside the car, he finds something.
“And this?”
Meadow lunges.
“Give me that!”
He sniffs his hand.
“Are you serious?”
“It’s for traffic jams,” she says, cracking a smile. “I thought it was lost.”
“It was under the passenger seat.”
They laugh.
He reads the title.
“Meadow Weiss.”
“Yes.”
“You don’t know who I am, do you?”
“No.”
“I went to school with you. Meadow Soprano.”
“Who?”
“Herman Hyle.”
“Oh my God — Hymie Hyle? That’s you? You’ve changed!”
---
Hermus “Hymie” Hyle
“You haven’t — just your last name. You’re still as beautiful as you were in school. So you’re married?”
“Oh, no. I’ll probably never get married. I changed my name after I graduated Columbia and my father was murdered.”
“I’m sorry, Bing.”
“Don’t be. That’s what ‘living the life’ gets you — dead. Being a mobster’s daughter doesn’t give you an honest shot at a career in the era of social media and shaming.”
“How about you, Hymie? Married? Divorced?”
“No, Bing. I’m like you. I’ll probably never get married.”
“Why?”
“I’m gay.”
“Really? You, Hymie? I’d never have known.”
“I didn’t know either. Until I found out.”
“There are civil unions now.”
“Yeah, I know. But… I’m too much of a whore.”
They laugh.
“Come here, Hymie. Give me a hug. Too bad — you’re a real beefcake.”
“You think so?”
“Yeah.” She kisses his cheek. “Now I’m not embarrassed you found my vibrator.”
---
VI
WCBS‑AM Radio: “The rookie, Aaron Judge, is expected to be in the Yankees’ Opening Day lineup…”
Meadow and Hymie go to Nathan’s on Coney Island for lunch and catch up.
Hymie explains he doesn’t work at the salvage yard — he was filling in for his uncle, who owns Hyle Funeral Home. Hymie went to school to become an undertaker.
“That’s creepy.”
Meadow explains she passed the bar and became a public defender instead of joining her fiancé’s father’s firm representing the rich and privileged.
As lunch ends, Hymie asks:
“Do you like baseball?”
“It’s okay. I listen to games sometimes. The announcer’s voice puts me to sleep. John Sterling — he has such a soothing voice, then explodes with his home run calls.”
“I have two box‑seat tickets for Opening Day. Want to go?”
Meadow nods enthusiastically.
Back home, she unpacks her box of belongings, sets her new alarm clock, and stands before her mirror.
“What a mess.”
She strips naked, examines herself critically, and sighs.
“Something has to change.”
She sorts through the box: tampons, condoms, a pregnancy test, dirty panties, bras, books, racquetball gear, and finally — her vibrator.
“How embarrassing.”
She puts it in the dishwasher basket for future washing.
---
VII
Meadow enters the precinct the next afternoon...
. . .
(TO CONTINUE)
THE
YOUNG SOPRANOS
"MEMENTO MORI"
PART 1 I--XXX
CONTENTS SUMMARY LINKS (#TYS)
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2026/02/the-young-sopranos-part-1-i-xxx.html
THE
YOUNG SOPRANOS
(#TYS)
PART 1
(I--XXX)
CREATED
BY
J. BECK
2026
My Explanation for The Sopranos
"Black Screen" 'Final Episode
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2024/02/my-explanation-for-sopranos-final.html?m=1
The
Young Sopranos:
"MEMENTO MORI"
Part 1
Based strictly on the
Content from the #TYS Canon
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2024/08/the-young-sopranos-part-1-i-xviii.html?m=1
READ:
THE YOUNG SOPRANOS
PARTS 1--5
&
APPENDIX
(SOURCE)
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