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A comedic drama about a 50+ man who desperately tries to become the man he used to be.
Returning to New York City after several years of aimlessly freelancing throughout Scandinavia, Sam Knox finds himself a has-been and deterioration of his former self. And with one last desperate attempt, Sam will now have to once again emerge in the elitist journalistic society of the Big Apple, even if that means making the American President and most of the country his enemies in Sam's and his loyal assistants' unrelenting pursuit of the greener pasture through America's highways & byways.
"It’s when the cameras tilt away and my assistants’ backs are turned, and people can’t see my face or try to make a mockery of me; this is when I get to work.
And that’s when I’ve already bought a bottle Barracuda rum, dying with every sip to come alive with every whiff of a woman’s perfume. I check into a ramshackle hotel where the rooms smell like gasoline & looks like someone’s been dancing on the nightstand, swinging from the curtains and fell asleep in a snifter before dodging the former railway worker in the lobby and cutting between the hookers, outside the doorway, that look like they’ve been there since ’89 and go staggering down the street in wingtips that echo between the buildings like hammers against wood. The covers feel like they’ve been drenched in sugar and no one ever really got the rotten stuff out – hard & crusty like this old man walking down the stairs to get another feel of the city’s old neighborhoods that I couldn’t sense from the second floor with saggy old women cackling down on the street like they were in the far-side of Los Angeles. I catch snatches of pictures wherever I go tonight, feeling like the only people that know I’m out here looking for something, are the people up in the buildings – who are not halfway down on their knees under a bright neon lamp with prayers trembling on their lips of getting in for a night’s dance – and they close the kitchen-drapes to hide. Shine of a lighter illuminates me briefly while another man falls to his back as unawareness gets faked by men & women who are whipped into line under the neon for no one wants to see the waving fists of a bouncer to drown out the pleading cries of a drunkard, and my smoke flutters around the lamppost above me before fading off like it never happened.
I hum a dirge in the dead of an oily night, and watch another sucker in the city by the sea go rolling by on the boardwalk as if though his children just left him, with the waves crashing silently to shore below my feet like they want the night to end. But I know that, looking over my shoulder, somewhere in the midst of buildings, there is still plenty of life. New York is always ticking, but it will make you feel like it’s never going to move too fast for you or leave you behind; the City will however never let you down. This place changes by the minute, but the history of it is never erased. My city wear scars deep, and you can catch a glimpse of it all if you’re just willing to put the streets under your feet.
And sometimes it will even stop, all for you."