“Chapter One.”
“He adored New York City. He idolized it all out of proportion.”
Uh, no. Make that, “He romanticized it all out of proportion”. Better.
“To him, no matter what the season was, this was still a town that existed in black and white and pulsated to the great tunes of George Gershwin.”
Uh... no. Let me start this over.
The week before last, I was out on a cold Sunday morning in my neighborhood, scouting for pictures to take. As I was looking through my viewfinder, freezing my fingers off on an empty street, a guy who appeared to be in his late 60’s approached me in front of CVS. White haired and stout - kind of like Rod Steiger. He struck a kind of beauty-pageant pose, and said,
“I'm ready.”
“For your close-up?"
He looked back at me a little nonplussed. I said, “Ready for your close-up, Mr. DeMille”?
Now he looked shocked. I said, “That’s right, Sunset Boulevard”
He quickly asked, “Who said it?”
“Norma Desmond. Look, I not only own it, I just gave it to someone for Christmas.”
He said, “And you’re probably not even 40”.
“I’m 44, almost 45”.
He looked me up and down, suddenly business-like. “What other movies do you like?”
“Uh, I dunno. The Apartment, The Big Sleep, Shane, Manhattan?”, saying whatever was popping into my head.
He nodded, and then says, “So you’re some kind of weird romantic.”
I gave a really loud laugh. “Exactly.”
He asked me if I'd seen The Hurt Locker. “Yes”.
He asked me if I'd seen Precious. “No, it looks depressing.”
“You should,” he says. The quiz is over. I think I got a Gentleman's B.
Uh... no. Let me start this over.
“He was too romantic about Manhattan, as he was about everything else.”
“He thrived on the hustle, bustle of the crowds and the traffic.”
“To him, New York meant beautiful women and street-smart guys who seemed to know all the angles.”
Ah, corny. Too corny for a man of my taste.
Let me... try and make it more profound.
“Chapter one.”
“He adored New York City.”
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