there was a man in a rumpled grey suit in the
bookstore last week.
he asked me if i was the proprietor and i told him
“no...but i act like it” and he loved that. "heh heh, yeaaah, that is the
way it should beee!" so he tells me that he is a writer from Detroit and
that he will do anything to make it in hollywood.
including "eating garbage."
he was holding a little notebook/folder and he fools
around, looking down, shifting his
weight between his feet and finally hands me his prospectus for a screenplay. i
was busily shelving books so my first thought what the hell, man? do i look
connected to you?
i take it and mention that i lived in and loved
Detroit…Hamtramck, in particular. he says nothing which is a bad sign. the
expected response: “oh yeah? what part?” and outwardly happy for a connection.
so i said, where are you from in the city? and he says....”uuuh, downtown”…and
he all of a sudden wants his piece of paper back too.
his
story is about alien werewolves that embed hollywood with madness. or something
like that. i don’t know since he took his stuff, turned his back, and left in a
hurry.
