(Pan Camera- interior, luxury suite-soft focus slowly sharpens.)
“Where are your tax returns, honey?” she whispered in his ear, slowly, suggestively, while spanking him with a Forbes magazine. He tittered like a little boy, wiggling his bum in pleasure. In the background-We Are Family played on the cassette player, smothered with chicken grease. Outside, a crow romps with a tattered golf ball in its beak, mocking a fat beached dispirited gator, prostrate on the green lawn, belly full of discarded prophylactic wrappers, moaning reflexively like a beached Republican at sunset. A swarthy Mexican waiter hides beside a dumpster, smoking a cigarette, humming a snippet of the ‘Battle Hymn Of The Republic’, scratching his nuts. The Florida sky above, straight across to the horizon, looks like a melted box of crayons. A tree full of exhausted Mockingbirds, fighting sleep, observe the dying gator on the chemical lawn, weighing the benefits of flesh—eating, warbling the words Mar-A-Lago, Mar-A-Lago. The waiter flicks his cigarette onto the parking lot, the sparks explode into a blue-collar fireworks display. 10 miles distant, The Everglades are still in flames. The waiter pushes an audible poot, smiles with sullen pleasure, and returns to the hot, steaming sink full of political germs, and diplomatic bacteria.
No one has signed the paychecks. The spoons remain unwashed.
Stormy-The Movie) End Credits-voice over.
Another Dreamer hoping for a spare piece of chocolate cake in the land of the Free, Home of the Brave.
Walk-Out Music- The Doobies- Jesus Is Just Alright With Me.