hollywood dreaming
It was a little overcast, a little windy, and we figured, well she did – I didn’t wanna go at first – that the crowd wouldn’t be so big. She convinced me though, pinched my ear and whispered about open lines and endless bouts on the whoop-de-doos. Turns out she was right. We mighta had VIP tickets. I mighta been Johnny Depp, and my girl, she mighta been Marilyn Monroe. Except we did see Monroe there, for real, all in her white dress with the flappin skirt, the one that blows like it ain’t got nothin to hide. It was breezy, like I said. And in the afternoon, the sun came out real bright and beamin, and it was like we’d won the lottery and started a whole nother life, one where I mighta been a cowboy or a cop with a car to rocket through the air, and even when bad things happen, like this log that fell in our path and damn near cut our boat in half, it all works out in the end. There’s applause and giant cups of fizz, giant straws that wind their way to your mouth and fill it with sweetness. It was a real good day, a real good time just like in the movies.
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