|
|
 |
Link Details for: | American Male |
|
| Link ID# | 10 |
| Link URL | http:// |
| Submited By | Eric Valenzuela |
| Added On | Tue_Sep_23__2003 |
Description:
Frank looked down at his legs dangling over the edge of the Capitol Records building. Somewhere thirteen floors down was his other shoe. He closed his eyes as a gust of wind rushed towards his face and he lifted his arms out, giving him the sensation that he was flying or falling. As the air swam around him he took a deep breath and put his hands to his stomach which was still a little sore from how hard he had been laughing earlier. The effects of the cocaine and ecstasy had long since diminished and it was nice to feel the endorphins rush again that night. But for the first time in a long time the feeling came in a natural way. He unbuttoned his Neiman-Marcus shirt and let it float away into the night sky. He watched as it sailed eastward, down towards the bright neon lights of the Pantages Theater. With his right hand Frank traced the scar on his left arm down to his wrist and then glanced at his watch. When he was twelve, Frank’s parents took him to see the Grand Canyon. On the third night of their stay he had awakened and looked out the window where he saw the most dazzling array of stars he’d ever seen. Los Angeles never had stars like the ones over the Grand Canyon, he thought. With his parents sound asleep, Frank snuck out the door and wandered around until he found a suitable space to sit and gaze up at the heavens. He didn’t hear sound when the baby rattle snake bit him. He didn’t make a sound when he made his way back into the cabin his family was staying in. Though the pain was excruciating, he was more fearful of what mom and dad might say had they learned of his sneaking out. When they heard his whimpers and soft cries they rushed to the nearest hospital. Because so much time had lapsed, Franks arm had swollen to nearly three times its normal size. It had to be cut open to relieve the pressure. The last time Frank let himself get caught in his stargazing, he was lucky he got to keep his arm. He could see all of Hollywood from this vantage point and now that it was about two in the morning he observed the undulating mobs drain out of the clubs and bars on to Hollywood boulevard. He looked back over the days events and started laugh maniacally again. Mom, Dad, Dave, Lynette, Maura for Christ’s sake… and now here he was wondering if he were to fall if he were to jump should he plummet to the ground from this height would he really die? Could anything really hurt him? * * * * * * * * * * * * That morning started off just like any other. It was Thursday and Frank sat by the pool, looking out past the beach towards the expanse of the Pacific. At 10:30 there wasn’t much traffic out in the sea but his attention was on the book he was reading The Dubliners by James Joyce. In the middle of Araby his eyebrows suddenly crunched together in annoyance as he heard the clip clop of his mother’s shoes approaching from the house behind him. She stopped in front of him and finished her phone conversation as Frank shut his book and placed it on the table next to other selections from his library. “Good morning honey,” said his mother. She was quite chipper this morning but then again, she always has been more of a morning person than he was used to. “What are you reading?” Frank looked up at her from behind his Oliver People’s sunglasses and smiled. “Oh you know,” he began dryly, “Just another one of those satirical moral deconstructions of contemporary life as interpreted by the Irish from a hundred years ago.” He stared at her as she nodded and examined the text on the screen of her phone. She hadn’t heard a word he said. “Mm-hmm,” she murmured. Then looking back in his direction, “Do you have school today?” “No. Not today.” Actually he had missed his first class and had no intention of showing up to his 11 o’clock lecture. “I never can keep up with your schedule,” she smiled. Her Prada bag began buzzing and she fished her phone out of it yet again. “Joanna Heiden, how can I help you? Yes the open house is off Mulholland… Yes… From eleven to three.” She mouthed words at him: got to go! She puckered her lips and kissed the air in his direction and clip clopped away. Frank sank back into the lounge chair and swung his arm around beneath him and came up with another book. He examined the white limousine on the cover art of the book: Cosmopolis by Don DeLillo. Shit, he thought. I read this yesterday. After twenty failed minutes of trying to fall asleep Frank sat up at the sound of his phone ringing. It was David. “What’s up fag?” “What’s up you sweet little bitch?” laughed David. “What are you doing?” “Ah, you know, living off my parent’s money.” “Yeah so anyways, I just got in to work and I’m thinking it’s about time for lunch. You do want to go to the strip club and get something to eat?” Frank laughed, “Nah. I’m not really hungry.” “Neither am I.” “Dude, what do you do all day anyways? You get in to your office and twenty minutes later you leave for lunch and I don’t think I’ve ever known you to be there past three and I know after a couple of martinis at lunch you aren’t the most productive. You have a goddamn bed in the room next to your office.” “Frank,” Dave began, “All I do is a magic act. It’s all an illusion. I move the same chunk of money around from one place to another. Investment banking isn’t about finding the hot stock tip or listening for the insider secrets. Just like those queers with the tigers in Vegas keep you looking one way while they pull a rabbit out of your ass. So come on, man. Lunch or what?” Frank pulled off his glasses and looked at his watch and sighed, “Alright. Give me an hour. I’ll meet you at the Saddle Ranch on Sunset.” “Alright dude. Tell your mom ‘hi’ for me.” Click. Frank walked into the saloon themed restaurant and headed straight for the bar. David was always late so Frank didn’t even bother to look around for him. After ordering a beer he turned around to look at the mechanical bull which was never in use at this time of day. It brought back memories of the many drunken nights he had been thrown from it all those times he went flying or falling. As he let his mind wander he heard something very unusual behind him. A young woman had order a Tom Collins. Turning around he asked, “You’re not from around here, are you?” She was around the corner of the bar about four feet away quite attractive. She was rather petite and had shoulder length brown hair, fair skin, brownish eyes and her cute little mouth was slightly and inquisitively agape. “The only reason I ask,” he continued, “is because no girls from southern California ever order a Tom Collins.” Then with a raised eyebrow and a wink that came all too naturally, “No straight girls anyway.” She took his comments with a grain of salt and replied, “This straight girl is from Connecticut, actually.” “Hmm… So let’s see here.” He put his fingers to his chin and looked her up and down suspiciously. After making his observation he went on, “Well, you’re very cute but not super model cute. I don’t really know if you can sing but I’m gonna say no. But you don’t seem like the actress type. I don’t know.” Shrugging his shoulders he said, “I can’t figure out which cliché you’re supposed to be.” Her eyebrow rose now, and with smirk in response to his evaluation the Connecticut native replied, “Try none of the above buddy. Actually I work for a PR firm down the street and I did not come here to try to make it in Hollywood or to be famous.” “Oh really? Then why did you come here all the way from Hartford?” “New Haven, actually,” she corrected. “And…” she began biting her fingernail. “Actually I came out here because my boyfriend came to school out here.” She smiled sheepishly and looked away. “Oh, so it’s that cliché?” Frank asked playfully. “Yeah, yeah but that was a lifetime ago. He’s off being a single Hollywood type now.” “So what brings you to the Saddle Ranch? The cowboy décor? The fine dining experience that can only be found here in Hollywood? The mechanical bull?” She sighed, “Well, when I said I work for a PR firm it means I do all the grunt work the agents are to ‘busy’ for. So right now I’m picking up lunch for them and having a little drink at their expense.” Now she examined him up and down. “So what do you do?” He scoffed, “Whatever I want. I have rich parents.” “Must be nice.” She took a sip of her drink and glanced towards the kitchen window. “I’m not keeping you am I?” asked Frank. She smiled, “No, of course not. They just take forever here sometimes. So I take it you don’t have a very big family?” Interesting, he thought, “Well, no. What makes you ask that?” “About living off your parent’s money… Even if I wanted to, I mean, I have a huge family and they do the best they can… It’s just hard for me to imagine that kind of freedom without that much responsibility.” She stepped a little closer to him, “but you seem to have it figured out pretty well.” “How big a family are we talking-“ “HERE I AM, FRANK! YOU SWEET SUCCULENT LITTLE BITCH!” By the look on her face Frank could tell that David had made his entrance. David, being a few inches taller, reached over Frank extending a hand to introduce himself, “Hi there beautiful! My name is David and if there is anything I can do to make your life better, you just let me know.” “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced either. I’m Frank.” “Pleased to meet you both,” she replied, smiling and shaking hands. “I’m Maura.” Then watching as a server approached with a box of food, “And it looks like I’m out of here boys.” “Well at least stay and finish your drink,” said Frank. “Yeah,” agreed David. “We don’t bite.” She thought about it for a moment and was about to shake her head when Frank went on, “Please, you were about to tell me about your huge family and your asshole ex-boyfriend!” “Ex?” asked David enthusiastically. “Yeah come on! Stay! We both have condoms and money and are good at the sex. Not in that order but sometimes.” Maura smiled sweetly and reached into her pocket, pulling out a business card. She handed it to Frank, “Maybe I can tell you about my seven brothers and sisters some other time.” Turning to David, “Good luck with your money, sex and your condom. And Frank, it was very nice to meet you.” As she walked away Frank examined the business card while David examined her rear. “Seven brothers and sisters,” Frank repeated aloud. “She’s probably Irish catholic or something. Great ass though.” David headed for a table in the back corner and spoke over his shoulder to Frank, “I already called in our order so come over here, man. I got something to show you.” After ordering a couple of drinks and the arrival of two rare steaks Frank asked what the big surprise was. “Alright,” David said in almost a whisper leaning halfway over the table. He looked around cautiously and reached into his inner jacket pocket. “Now don’t freak out or anything but I got a new toy.” He pulled out a small silver pistol and set it on the table with a metallic thud. It was about five and a half inches in length and read “Desert Eagle” on the side. Frank stared with his mouth slightly open in surprise. “What do you need that hand cannon for?” “Because I’m a mutha-fuckin’ gangsta nigga! Nah, just kidding.” David took a sip of his beer. “I got it for fun man. Haven’t you ever wanted to fire a weapon before? I take this to the roof sometimes and shoot at the birds that always shit on my car. Pick it up, dude. And put it on your lap in case someone comes. For some reason people freak out when I whip it out in public. And they don’t like when I take the gun out either,” he said with a wink. Frank picked it up. It was heavier than he thought it would be. It felt so solid and absolute. “Fuck me running,” he whispered. “And you shoot this off the roof of your work? Don’t people tend to call the police when they hear gunfire?” “No check it out dude.” David pointed to the end of the barrel, “I gave the guy some extra cash to silence it. You drill these little holes in the end and it slows the bullet down so it doesn’t make as much noise. I was asking about it and he said if you do it wrong it tends to blow up in your hand but this one works fine.” “Well that’s a relief.” “Alright make sure the safety is on and tuck it in your pants. You don’t want it going off there and the waiter is coming.” After paying the bill they both walked towards Frank’s car parked down towards the House of Blues. “You want this thing back,” asked Frank. “I didn’t wear a belt and this thing is pulling my pants down.” “Not until you use it at least once. Expand your mind dude. You won’t go to a strip joint for lunch. At least be man enough to shoot a gun at some harmless animals.” “What are you doing tonight?” “Busy,” David replied. “Some old blue bloods from Boston who have lots of money I want to help them part with. Call that Maria chick you met in there man. See if she’ll fuck me or we can bust a three-way or something.” “Her name’s Maura, not Maria. But yeah, maybe. I think I’m hanging out with Lynette tonight.” Frank tucked the gun in the inside pocket of his jacket that was in his car and pushed it beneath the passengers seat. “Cool man. Make her scream my name at least once for me. Oh yeah, one more thing,” he said as Frank got into his car, “Don’t do anything stupid like get pulled over with that gun on you.” “That’s what we got lawyers and money for dude.” By the time Frank arrived back to his room it was nearly four in the afternoon. Sitting on his bed he picked up a guitar and strummed out a few bars from some song by Stone Temple Pilots. He glanced down towards the corner of his bed where he spotted an old paper backed copy of Thompson’s Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. He cocked his head to the right, mirroring the slanted angle lenses on the sunglasses printed on the cover. The Great Gonzo’s sunglasses. Staring at the book for nearly a minute Frank bent down to pick up the book but stopped midway when his cell-phone beeped. It was a text message from Lynette: “Hey baby! Meet me @ BEAT-IT 2nite @ 10:00. Luv U!!!” Drowsy from the few pints of ale at lunch, Frank sighed and threw his head back onto the pillow. Turning his face towards the night stand he saw a note scrawled in his father’s handwriting: “If you need anything give me a call.” It was accompanied by couple of hundred dollar bills. As he fell asleep Frank realized he hadn’t seen both his parents in the same day in nearly two weeks. He couldn’t remember the last occasion he saw them at the same time. It had to have been since Labor Day, he imagined. As he lie there he dug around his pockets, pulling out his wallet, watch, keys and the business card Maura gave him at lunch. He thought about Maura and her seven brothers and sisters. About what it would be like to leave everything he knew and his family to chase some person who he wouldn’t even be with several months later. He imagined Maura, a lifetime ago, leaving her home with high hopes and big dreams and the security of the person she loved to guide her along only to end up alone and having to fend for herself. Drowsiness soon overcame him and he drifted into a daze. Whenever he drifted into sleep he always imagined he was flying or falling. With the radio turned on the last thing he heard before he fell asleep was Oasis wondering where he was while they were getting high. Four hours passed before Frank awakened. After a shave and a shower he hit the road back towards the city. As he approached Hollywood he decided to grab a little something to eat as he was pretty sure the night would not end before he tried to consume the weight of his own head in alcohol. He stopped at an old burger stand in the valley where there was only a drive-thru and patio space, but no dining room. As he approached the window he noticed out of the corner of his eye that he had the attention of a small group of scantily dressed teenage girls. Was it his loud car that had gotten their attention, he wondered. Maybe it was his Neiman-Marcus shirt. Was it the goat-skin jacket? The shoes or jeans or the watch? His pale green eyes shot in their direction and he grinned. A raised eyebrow and a wink sent them into near hysterics. He proceeded to order a burger as he heard them giggle and murmur. After catching them stealing a few glances at him, the youngsters left and he sat and ate his meal alone before he left as well. It was almost eleven when Frank parked his car around the corner from the Mann Chinese Theater and walked the half block over to club Beat-It. Beat-It is an ‘80’s themed dance club where many of its patrons dress the part and there is hardly ever a shortage of interesting and colorful people. From where he parked his car he could hear the beats emanating from the building. The Cure amalgamating with The Smiths flowing into Ah-Ha blending into Blondie. As he approached the door he scanned the fenced smoking area, looking for anyone he recognized. After shaking hands with the doorman, a part-time stuntman named Steve Frank entered and downed a beer. As the last of it was bubbling out of the bottle he spotted Lynette in the next room through the opening in the wall behind the bar. Depeche Mode’s Just Can’t Get Enough blared and she was dancing by herself in the middle of the dance floor with hips shaking and her long black hair whipping around. The tight purple dress, her eyes shut tight and the limitless male admirers checking her out from their position glued to the wall drinking up enough courage to hit on her, Lynette was in her element. She loved to dance. She loved the attention. Her eyes lit up as she noticed Frank enter the room. She danced toward him, never breaking eye contact as she approached. “Hey baby!” she called. She threw her arms around Frank and kissed him deeply. Holding her as tight as he was, he could feel through her clothes that she wasn’t wearing any underwear. After a brief make-out session right there in the doorway he pulled back a few inches to look at her eyes. Her pupils were the size of dimes. She grinned and Frank also flexed a grin from ear to ear. “Do you have any for me,” he asked. From where Frank couldn’t possibly imagine, Lynette produced a tiny clear plastic bag. Cocaine. Still half dancing Frank observed the white powder inside bounce around. He took Lynette’s hand and led her around to the corridor near the restrooms where one of the bouncers stood. The large doorman peered across the darkness in their direction as they approached and suddenly smiled. “Hey Frank! What’s up man? Long time no see!” “Hey Bear,” Frank replied. With a slap on the back Frank asked, “Hey, can I just get a little privacy here?” “Sure, man. Whatever you need.” Bear let them pass down to the end of the hall where they were covered in almost complete darkness, save for the green glow of the exit sign above them. The door in front of them read: THIS IS NOT AN EXIT. Being directly on the other side of the wall from the speakers they could feel the base line of the music in their bones. Frank dipped his finger in the powder and sniffed. Though he almost immediately felt a tingling sensation, it had burned more than he remembered. He gave Lynette a questioning look. From beneath the music she shouted, “It’s got a hit of E crushed in there with it!” Before Frank could lift the rest to his nose, Lynette snatched the bag from his hand and raised her eyebrow. With a devious smile she lifted the container to just below her ear and dusted her neck, chest and shoulder with its contents. After all the dancing her skin was slicked with a thin layer of sweat that kept any of the precious drugs from floating away. Frank dove in. She wrapped her arms around him, receiving him like a lost child and held him tightly while moving with the rhythm of the music. He savored the tingly numbness on his tongue and in the back of his throat as much as the saltiness of her skin and the metallic chemical taste of the cocaine. It didn’t take long for any of it to take effect. After a couple of hours of dancing, several bottles of water and countless cigarettes Franks high began to dissipate slightly. In his altered state Frank leaned up against the bar to watch the dance floor. He watched the girls in a time warp with their leg warmers and side pony tails. He watched the smokers outside the window and the cloud of carcinogens that hovered around them. The lines between everything he looked at blurred. Images flowed into one another. There was no distinction. Light seemed to have mass and sounds pushed their way across everything he surveyed. Beneath the synthesizers and drum machines of some old Michel Jackson tune, Frank focused on the guys around the room drooling over Lynette. The way they’d stare at her. The way she knew they stared. The way she teased them. He caught her eye and she simply smiled as she kept on dancing. Frank turned around and shut his eyes tightly. He rubbed his temples with his thumb and forefinger as though he had a headache even though physically he felt quite good. He bought himself a bottle of water and another for Lynette and made his way towards her. He planted a kiss on her and could almost hear the guys in the room roll their eyes. Frank was suddenly very aware of everyone around them. “I’m gonna get some air!” he shouted over the music. “Okay,” she replied. “I’ll be here! Love you!” He still felt the tingly residual effects of the ecstasy. “Love you too!” He handed her a bottle of water and headed for the door. This was the woman he loved. As he exited the club he felt the chill of the cool autumn air. Hunger struck him yet again as he caught a scent from the vendor at the corner selling chili cheese hot dogs wrapped in bacon. He reached into his pocket to find it horribly free of any cash. Frank’s hunger led him to the closest cash machine, down at the opposite corner where he, half drunk and half high, fumbled around his jacket pocket for his wallet. Franks eyes suddenly widened just before he felt the breath on his neck, the solid metal object to his back and heard a voice whisper, “Move slowly bitch, or you’re going to die.” Frank immediately pulled his hands out of his jacket and placed them flat on the wall in front of him. Staring straight ahead Frank stammered, “I haven’t got anything, man! I didn’t get any money yet!” “I know that,” said the voice. “I saw you.” Frank felt the man’s breath on the back of his neck. “Slowly, reach back into your jacket and get your wallet.” He pressed the weapon harder into the base of Frank’s head, just above his neck. “Do it white boy! And pull out as much money as you can and you better fucking pray it’s at least five bills.” Frank was shaking. “Look, man. I just-“ “Shut the fuck up!” exclaimed the man with gun. “Just fucking do it, rich boy and do it fast before I have to shoot you and mess up your pretty jacket!” Frank felt the spittle land on the back his neck. “OK! OK!” Leaving his left hand on the wall Frank slowly reached with his right towards his inner jacket pocket. He could sense the apprehension in his mugger’s demeanor. As he reached inside he could feel the thief take a tiny step forward and look around at the same time. The guy was nervous but my no means was this the first time he had done this. As Franks fingers wrapped around the handle of the gun inside his jacket pocket he could tell that the robber had no idea what was coming his way. Two muffled pops came from between Franks arm and body and out of the corner of his eye he could see his assailant fall to the ground. He looked down at his feet to see a young guy in a hooded sweater wincing in pain. The man moaned and groaned and held himself as though he had been hit in the stomach with a bat. Frank pulled him, groaning and moaning, and sat him against the wall. Blood came out from beneath the guys elbow and flowed in the crevice between the building and the sidewalk. He looked into his robbers face and saw the pain in the man’s contorted expressions. Frank watched the robber’s breathing became deeper and heavier. And slower. Frank stood up and withdrew four hundred dollars from the ATM. He came back down to look at his robber, tears now beginning to stream down the robber’s cheeks. If the tears came from fear or pain Frank couldn’t tell. Holding up the bundle of twenties Frank asked, “Is this what you wanted, man?” He looked for a response but only received a glare. “Y’know buddy,” Frank began as he pulled out and lighted a cigarette. “This is pretty disappointing.” Cars drove by on the road behind him but all they saw was a guy smoking a cigarette while standing over what must have been his intoxicated friend. “I mean,” he went on, “this is nothing like I thought it would be.” He paused and offered a drag of his cigarette but it seemed the assailant refused. “I don’t feel any different… I don’t feel like I cheated death or saved myself from anything… I don’t feel like I saved my own life or that I’ve taken yours…Tomorrow will just be another day for me. But not for you man.” He scoffed, “You won’t even see tomorrow.” Frank pulled his jacket off and turned it over to examine the two holes where the bullets exited. “Look at this.” The thief, who couldn’t have been more than twenty years old Frank surmised, only groaned as if trying to say something anything. “You wanted a couple hundred bucks. That shit means nothing to me. It’s like water. I even ruined my fucking jacket. Look!” Frank shoved the coat in his face. “This jacket costs more than you would have gotten off me. But you didn’t know that did you?” Frank began to laugh. “Just imagine if you would’ve tried to steal my jacket! You’d be on your way with a new coat and a new gun!” Franks laugh became harder and more maniacal. “And now look at you! Here on the floor dying. Dying because some ‘Rich Boy’ you were trying to rob shot you!” Frank’s laugh became hysterical. “F-f-f-f…” was all that the shot man could summon from his voice. “What?” Frank demanded, still laughing madly. He was laughing so hard he began to cry. Tears from his eyes framed his grin. “What are you trying to say buddy? Fuck me? Is that it? Fuck me?” Frank opened up his jacket and reached inside again. “Tomorrow I’m going to wake up and buy a new jacket. Tomorrow I’m going to drink and probably do some more coke and laugh about this with my buddy. And you know what?” Frank raised a finger with his free hand. “Tomorrow you are going to be dead” This is about the time where forensic investigators would later say two more bullets entered the victim’s body, piercing the left lung and the heart. Unfortunately, they would say, because they were hollow point bullets they shattered on impact leaving nothing to trace. Two more holes in his jacket Frank said to himself, “What a waste. I really liked this jacket” He stood up and began walking back towards the hot dog vendor. Still a safe distance from where anyone could get a good look at him, he pulled out the gun enough to see the underside of it where the serial number had already been scratched off. Fucking David, he thought with a smile. He held the jacket balled up on his side and marched on. As he passed the club on his right he glanced in to see if Lynette had moved from her position in the center of the room. Now she was dancing in front of a huge fan. With her hair whipping around behind her all he could see from the guy dancing behind her was his hands trying to wrap around her waste. Frank stood there and watched. He watched as the guy’s hands held her hips to his. He watched as the guys lips came to her neck and explored her shoulders. He watched as she took notice of him and winked, mouthing the words, I love you. Frank could only laugh some more. As he continued his walk up Hollywood Boulevard, he ate his bacon chili cheese dog and used a spare napkin to wipe the gun clean before dropping it in a dumpster behind the theater. Leaving his jacket in the car, Frank continued up the street until he found himself walking in front of his father’s radio station, next door to the Capitol Record building. Having been there often as a child, Frank new the building inside and out as well as the people who worked there. He walked into the lobby of the Capitol Records building where the security guard behind the desk looked up from his magazine to see who was entering at this hour. It was an older man named Anthony. Frank had known him for years. He walked up to the desk and Anthony smiled as he came in view, “Hey Frank! What’s the good word?” He stood up to shake his hand. “I don’t think Mr. Harrison is in tonight but you can check.” Nick Harrison was a studio director Frank had made friends with. He frequently gave Frank material to play on his radio show. “That’s cool, Tony.” Frank dug around in his pockets, pulling out a key and inadvertently dropping the business card Maura had given him. “Nick said he had left some CD’s for me to use on my show this week. He said I could grab them whenever and since I’m here now…” Maura’s card drifted and fluttered to the floor without notice. As the two men made small talk it found itself beneath Frank’s shoe and then kicked beneath Anthony’s desk. “All right Frankie,” Anthony said. “Go ahead. And have a good night.” “You too, Tony. And keep an eye out. Lots of dangerous people around here.” With that Frank disappeared behind the elevator doors. Having made his way up to the roof, he sat on the edge of the building. Not noticing that one of his shoes was untied he began to swing his legs back and forth until the shoe came off. On the roof Frank now sat on the edge minus a jacket, a shoe and now his shirt. If he keeps this up, Frank figured, he might be sitting up there naked pretty soon. He watched the people below him, back down on earth. He watched the girls wearing next to nothing. He wondered who they were going home with and who they’d be waking up next to in the morning. He looked at the men wandering around in a drunken stupor, each of them eager to get to a Denny’s or a Del Taco. He looked at everyone and wondered how many of them had jobs they needed to get to the next morning or how many of them were just taking up space. He wondered if he could relate to any of them and if he had anything in common with anyone down there on planet Hollywood Boulevard. Of course from his vantage point they all looked very small and insignificant. From such a perspective he realized that none of their problems are his. No one down there was quite like him from his perch. No one could see what he was looking at and no one could see the way he lives. Not from down there. Even with the wind blowing at thirteen floors up, he didn’t feel the cold. Frank’s teeth didn’t chatter nor did he shiver the least bit. Frank scooted closer towards the edge and looked down. The wind blew and he lifted his arms. He let himself feel the sensation. The sensation that he was flying. Or falling. |
|
