It's My Big Break! I Can Feel It! ... Ow.

There once was a man from Nantucket. He once fucked a nun and ate a duck. It was so much fun. He also killed anyone who ever did a full limerick.

I think he was the inspiration for the Conjuring movies actually…

The Cogitabund of The D, Mr. Edwards as dictated by Sir Reginald Klein Boxington the III, Esq.

The sunset strip. The Homeless capital of America, where the streets are adorned with celebrities names that wouldn’t be caught dead anywhere but the Grauman’s Chinese Theater. Where beach bums become regular bums and you smell weed on every corner. Filled with small little knick knack shops filled with cheap shit you don’t need and six dollar white t-shirts that fall apart at the first wash. The type of neighborhood where you’ll see forty percent tourists, thirty percent homeless, and thirty percent merchants, with nary in between.

The D, however, fit none of these. As he stepped onto the street corner wearing his finest three piece suit, he definitely looked out of place amongst the riff raff and rabble. He placed his hands on his waist and took a deep inhale in of the city.

Only for a passerby to sneeze directly into his face.

The D leans over and starts to vomit directly onto the sidewalk.

Now. He fits in.

He stands and wipes the spit off his face, lifting a ringing cell phone to his ear. “Gyaahhk!” The D spits one last time to clear his mouth. “Yes. Hi Elise.” The D blinks. “Klein isn’t here.” The D rolls his eyes. “I know, he lost your one hundred dollars.” The D nods. “Yes, I told him we’re taking it out of his salary.” The D waits, tapping his foot. “Yeah, Klein asked me what we meant by salary. Then I just walked away.” The D nods. “So it’s settled. I’ll see you at Revival.” The D hangs up and walks off through the crowd of ill fitting Spider-Man and Batman costumes, Wonder Woman with a gut, not that there’s anything wrong with that, asking for pictures for 5 dollars a pop. The D spins through the crowd and reaches the front entrance…

… of the historical Grauman’s.

Bright gold and red hues with mood lighting illuminate the entrance to the entire strip. Spotlights shine and flash side to side, and the roads appear to be blocked off. A large alien spacecraft has been built and is set off to the side of the entrance, as if it crash landed into the theater’s walkway filled with hand prints. The entrance however, itself, is inaccessible. Reporters and paparazzi flash cameras at stars walking past.

The D has found himself at the premiere of the movie “Disclosure Day.”

The D tries to weasel and slip his way through the crowd, but there doesn’t seem to be any way to move toward the box office. The D starts trying to hop the barricade, only for security to instance pounce on him and shove him to the ground. The D just shouts, “I’m not a stalker! I just have a movie!”

The security guards ease up a bit, and it’s just enough for the D to scramble forward and rush through the red carpet event. He rushes past Colman Domingo and does a double take, but can’t stop as security keeps their pace. He passes by Emily Blunt and Josh O’Connor, both just doing their typical red carpet poses. He even gets to run past the great Steven Spielberg… but this causes the D to stop in his tracks.

“Mr. Spielberg. Big fan. I loved the Adventures of Tin Tin.”

And it’s here, where he’s promptly tackled by security and knocked unconscious.

**

The D awakens in Los Angeles county jail. Next to him is a drunk glazed disheveled white man. The D looks over. “Whattya in for?”

“DUI.” The man says, without looking. “You?”

The D sighs. “I told Steven Spielberg I loved Tin Tin.”

“That weird animated movie?” He replies. “Yeah, you deserved it…”

“EDWARDS!”

Shouted from the nearby guards, the door to the jail swings open. A security guard comes over and begins to escort the D out. “You made bail.”

The prison guard directs D through the long corridors and out into the waiting room, where Klein stands, hands crossed over his chest, judging like a disapproving parent. He just shakes his head from side to side.

The D doesn’t break stride, grabbing his personal possessions and meeting Klein. “You covered bail? Thanks.”

Klein nods, as the two walk off.

“You know that’s coming out of your salary.”

Klein stops, raises a finger. “Salary!? You guys don’t pay me! PRIME does!”

“Point still stands!” The D hails down a taxi. “C’mon Klein. We got a Revival to get to! I don’t know why we didn’t just go to New York City last night. You shoulda told me.”

Klein shoulder bumps D as he enters the taxi. “I did.”

“Agree to disagree.” The D says, as he slips into the cab, off to LAX and NYC.