This morning, everything was miraculously cleaned away from the party. The sun was out and sparkling, and I dragged my eyelids awake.
As I stood waiting for my car by the front door, I watched a guy also lounging around the place, waiting for who knows what, who was obviously going for that Jack-Nicholson-with-a-hangover look. Did pretty well at it too.
Ernie the Bell Captain and I discussed, in between cab requests, TV producers we knew. Everyone in Hollywood has a script in his/her car’s trunk, so you can carry on such a conversation with anyone you meet along Sunset Strip. Yes, even the homeless guy on the corner. Especially the homeless guy on the corner.
The car came, I climbed in, and remembered in time that particular Biblical commandment that says, “Thou shalt not drive down Sunset Boulevard with thy elbows on the wheel.”
And so I get to Mordechai’s hotel in time to get him to his meetings at the shul. Then home to the hotel, where Sunset Boulevard spreads its elegance for me to enjoy. I look at it and say, “Oh, the hell with it.” I’ve really got to work on my attitude towards streets.
white pebble 