i love la. it’s a city of faith. people move here from around the world believing they can “make it.” when a police officer stops you here, he doesn’t ask for your driver’s license. instead he asks for your headshots. The city of angels, a city of faith where everyone is gonna be a star.
my wife, niza, served tables and then managed a hip restaurant in la. practically everyone else serving tables with her was a hollywood hopeful. in cities across the planet people exchange business cards. in la we exchange demo cds. i say “we” because i’m in the middle of my own cd project now. did i mention my story, fat tuesday? one day my novel will become a screenplay that will be shot in brazil, then brought into the states as an independent foreign film, then remade into an english language feature film. i won’t have a prepared written speech when i win at the oscars either because i’ll be so surprised. i have it memorized instead.
this city breathes faith into you. it makes you believe in the impossible.
i love la. it’s a graveyard of broken dreams. wrinkled people slave away at meaningless jobs, dreams and hopes sucked right out of them. no callbacks. they seem old for their age even though in la, forty is the new thirty. i guess it makes sense that the young look old, if at thirty you’re really forty. but more than old, they look desperate. what if i don’t make it? i’m not going to make it. i didn’t make it.
dreams die in la. they’re buried here. what la needs is someone like jesus who called out lazarus’ name. a call back for the dead.
into the mystic…
© alex mcmanus, 2005
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