Hollywood Hubbub
Pacific Coast Highway, somewhere in Malibu. I woke up, hydraulic pistons inside my head doing a number on my skull– like Keith Moon on an angry expresso bender. My eyes were crusted. Two vultures in a tree looked down on me hungrily. Seeing me move, they slowly flap their wings and take flight, disgusted.
It’s a couple days after the Academy Awards after-parties, and this intrepid reporter will do his best to hunt and peck out the stories I have seen. The ones I remember, at least.