Somewhere near the ocean front, a bistro in southern California, something like you would see on Rodeo Drive. Within a cluster of roughly twenty people or so, lounging around a dozen or so tables with glass tabletops ,we close into a conversation of three peculiar characters. One of them, a pale, clean shaven, somber looking fellow dressed all in black, the table propping up his elbow, his elbow propping his hand who in turn is propping his head. He seems apathetic to his surroundings altogether.

The man next to him looks much more laid back, his legs stretched out in front of him and his hands resting on his belly. His eyes seem focused on the glass of tea in front of him, as if he wants to grab it but he’s too lazy to lean forward to get it.

Instead he just sighs and keeps watching it as if it will get up and move on it’s own, eventually. His heavy knit, off-white shirt looks like it’s been slept in for a few days and the collar keeps sticking up instead of laying down along his shoulders, getting lost in his shoulder length, graying hair. The last man is wearing a black T-shirt with a picture of Einstein on the front and a pair of blue jeans.

A clean shaven guy with blues eyes and a dreamy kind of expression on his face as he stares at his cup of coffee in front of him, along with some papers and a bottle of aspirin. He’s the one that’s talking.

“I told him that I wanted to do Richard the third, and he said that it’s too soon to do a political movie, you know.. After nine-eleven.. That was five years Ago! What the hell does that got to do with Richard the third anyways?

“You can’t argue with Brian De Palma, bill.” The man with the off-white shirt said, “He’s got his mind wrapped around Hamlet, and that’s what he’s gonna get.”

“It’s been done already, twenty times over. I’ve written more than just Hamlet, you know.”

“Tell him you’ve got other interested parties,” The man in black sighed, waving a waiter down and pointing to his empty carafe of what was once filled with water. “Didn’t you say that Terry Gilliam was interested in doing a Midsummer Night’s Dream?”

“Yeah but he pulled out when Lewis gave him the go ahead for Alice and the looking glass. The guy didn’t even call back, he sent me an E-mail.”

The guy in white sucked air between his teeth, “Geez, that’s cold.”

“Who cares,” Bill said, Pouring another mug of coffee. “What about you Ed? First you quit writing stories and now I’m hearing your gonna quit song writing too? What gives?”

Ed unbuttoned the top two buttons of his black shirt and shrugged. “It was getting weird, I made plenty of money from that Marlyin Manson single, he’s really an alright guy. But then I got this other offer by Glen Danzig, right? And I’m thinking this might be my calling.

I get to write and meet all these interesting people and get paid for it. So I’m going to Glen’s house to collaborate with him, I get to his mansion and I’m shown to the foyer.” Ed stopped long enough to pull a long drink from his glass. “He’s got some sort of marble alter in the middle of his foyer. It had dried blood on it, Bill.

It looked like it was soaked in blood, It had a little canal etched into the floor that led to some reservoir and when that overflowed, it followed a further cause way to a drain at the far end of the room…”

“Your putting us on,” Said the man in white, “there’s no way you saw all that.”

“I’m not lying to you, Ernest. It was just like something I would have wrote about in the Pit and the pendulum.”

“So what did you do?” Bill asked, leaning forward and smiling.

“What do you think I did? I didn’t even bother to introduce myself to the guy and I saw myself out. Called his agent on my way back home and told him that I was suddenly very busy and couldn’t make the appointment. Haven’t heard from him since.”

It was then that the waiter came onto the scene with a platter full of food. “Afternoon gentlemen, “he said, overtly happy about being at work, “Now, here’s the bacon cheeseburger for Mr. Shakespeare.”

“You burnt my fries, right?”

“Of course, sir. A bloody rare steak for Master Hemingway.”

“Could you run and grab me another carafe of tea when you get the time, Bobby. I’m absolutely parched.”

“I”ll get that right away for you, Sir. And finally the grilled cod with a side salad for Mr. Poe.”

“You’re a master of your craft, Bobby.”

“Thank you sir, I’ll be right back with that tea.” Bobby saunters away with Ernest’s eyes following him the whole way. When he looks back to his plate he sees that both of his friends are smiling back at him.