Page 78 - The Myth and the Moment

Evening

“I suppose it does, Ham; those who don’t go around with it get
thrown out of orbit. What you say has merit. What is it, Christian
dogma? Turn the other cheek? Can you imagine your most precious
possession ripped off by swine that laughingly throw it in the dirt and
trample it? Maybe you’ve got things defined in a way that it couldn’t
happen to you. I know it’s possible to mock everything, including
yourself: then all the pain and ugliness and injustice lose their sting,
shrink into insignificant aspects of the human comedy. I know
because I’ve been there. And stayed there more And got out of it by
finding myself a purpose; not a common, everyday goal like making
money or gaining power or turning myself into a living saint. No. If
I’d done that, I could have lost myself in an ocean of similar strivers,
each fighting the others for a piece of the action. Winning and losing
in that game is always relative to how everyone else is doing; and
nobody thinks the game itself depends on his performance, so the
rules don’t matter. But my game depends completely on me; if I lose,
it’s all over. So I’m not so sure that I can afford to let it go like that.”
“Okay, okay, man. It was just a suggestion. Listen, I’ve got to get
moving. Nice to hear from you.”
“Oh. Sorry if I kept you on the line too long, Ham. And thanks for
the information. I’ll keep your name out of this.”
“Well, thank you, Mistah Evangelino. Bye.”
Click.
Sarcastic bastard! But he did give me her address. Better start
walking. About a mile from here. Montague crosses Sunset. Don’t
feel safe on these streets at night; maybe it’s too early for the serious
muggers to be out and about. The wealthy want to live in the hills,
look down on the rest of the city as if it were a fiefdom full of serfs
working hard to produce the necessary tribute. But here, on the rim
of the high-rent district, is the low-brow Strip, reminding the
nouveaux-riches of the humble (though ever so meretricious) sources
of their wealth. Show biz? Substance gone, thanks to the two-
dimensional media; just a lot of sound and fury. Audience with too
much money, not enough common sense, besotted with drugs and
their precious egos. Not a place for an old codger like me. Maybe I
broadcast bad vibes. Maybe these retrograde adolescents can sense
my hostility. Well, if the sidewalks of Trousdale are private property,
Sunset Boulevard certainly isn’t.

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