You must be somebody, what’s-his-name on TV, or Whozit, from that movie that just came out. When I walk into a room, strangers’ eyes fix on me like a calculus problem they can’t solve: I know you from somewhere. A certain walk, the right clothes, a strategic combination of aloofness and familiarity. A few lucky ones have it naturally and some, like me, have worked on it over time. Whatever you call it, I walked in by accident.Īs anybody in this town knows, some people give off a magnetic field. Maybe it was because it was ten-forty-five on a Monday morning-too late for breakfast and too early for lunch-but the sidewalk outside Roscoe’s was empty, so I pulled over to grab some food.Ĭhance. Lines are an occupational hazard for actors looking for work, so I seriously hate lines on my days off. I love Roscoe’s, but what did I just say? I hate lines. But it’s the truth.Īny other day, if I had swung by Roscoe’s Chicken N’ Waffles on Gower and Sunset, there would have been customers waiting in the plastic chairs lining the sidewalk, hoping for a table inside, out of the sun’s reach. I would explain this to the guys from Robbery-Homicide, not that LAPD ever believes a word I say. That’s the only reason I stopped by Roscoe’s that day. HERE’S WHAT YOU NEED TO KNOW:I hate lines.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |