The Disillusionists. cont'd...

Already she was kind of annoying me, how long had she been there? Five minutes? Almost on cue she stood up and said, "I want you to be in a movie."

"I uh," I said, "what do you mean a movie..." I gave her my trademark raised eyebrow which didn't seem to faze her. She took a sip of her drink and said, "Not that kind of movie you silly, I want you to be in a real movie."

"A real movie."

"Yes, a real movie."

"Like a Hollywood movie."

"No. Like a short film."

"That's not a real movie."

"Excuse me?"

I got up and paced the room, "I thought you meant like a romantic comedy or something."

She regarded me with mild disgust. "My friend is making a film and he needs someone to play a cowboy so I natually thought of you."

"What kind of cowboy."

"I don't know, the real kind."

"When people picture a cowboy, they picture a Village People lookin' cowboy. Anyways, I hate country music."

"So what's with the song writing and shit?"

Ooops. Why had I said I was writing a country song. That was the thing about May. She projected energy so strong that coincidence and premonition seemed commonplace. She called it the luck of the devil. Could she, by walking down the street towards my place have affected my thinking so directly that before she even arrived, the little visited notion of a carrer in country music have entered my mind? Probably not.

"I'll think about it."

"Yeehhaaa!" she yelped. She drained her beer, "Let's get out of this shithole!"