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 | This is your brother we're talking about? | |
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| Yeah. It's like, for three years he was flying high, but then all at once things dried up, and now he's like, "what?" | |
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| Sucks. | |
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| Yeah. So now he lives in his car under a bridge near downtown. It's like, just west of Skid Row. Which I guess would be really sad, except he's not alone. There's like this entire tribe of screenwriters living there. It's like an encampment of fallen scribes living in cars, desperately banging out spec scripts. | |
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| That's just nuts. | |
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| He was always a jerk though. When he was doing well, he'd come back for the holidays and call us "civilians" because we weren't in the industry. He liked to talk about how we were all afraid to follow our dreams. Now, when I'm on the phone with him, and he's weeping and asking for a loan, I give him sympathy. I mean, I'm not a monster. But inside, I'm laughing my head off. | |
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