The wise men followed a star to find the miracle they were looking for; me, I'm following a 1987 minivan driven by a soccer mom on a mission. She's weaving through the lanes like a spider on speed and somehow I'm locked into following her, needing every turn she does, sliding through light after light just behind her and never quite sure which angry horn blasts are for her or me.
We're not running a race; can't be; different destinations, different goals…but for now, at least, we're going the same way and I'm following her.
Then she turns into the hospital, just like me, and it starts to click into place. Mom in a hurry; kid in pain. Shit. I hope it works out okay.
I'm, heading for the clinic parking lot when she finally breaks away, scorching toward the emergency department.
One rear light casing on her van is missing and without it, the bulb blazing looks kinda like a star, maybe.
But I'm no wise man, just a forlorn hope chaser, a man with a dream, and I have to get to the room that J. Ellison is in, quickly, fast, before he slips through my hands. Linda got me his name, but refused to pass on his address -- like she hadn't already broken the rules -- and he's not in the book; I already checked.
Got to find him. Fame, glory, book deal, me played by…hmm. Have to think about that one. Have to say, all I care about is that he's real, that he exists, that I'm right to believe in Burton.
But I can't help picturing what it's gonna be like if he's the real deal, and skipping to a few years down the road when I've written the diss and published it.
Him. Me. We're gonna be stars, man.
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