The Port Authority, you know it, right?
D'ya know the types you see there 'round midnight?
I'll let you know the truth since we just met,
There's two: the desp'rate and the des-per-ate.
Yeah, I hear bitterness there in my voice:
It was years ago, and without a choice
It comes back to me. The sour Greyhound smell.
The still sourer people - God, was it hell.
"Hell is other people." That how it's put?
That is pretty close to true, I guess, but
Truer still: Hell's a bus that only could
Leave from New York and go to Hollywood.
Ah, bartender, another, si vous plais.
Oh wait. What was I just about to say?
It left at midnight, that awful, reeking bus,
And bleary-eyed we stumbled on. All of us,
I think, believed that we would find new life.
(New job, new love, new start...a new ex-wife.)
We'd cast our foolish plans and petty schemes
There on that sunny coast made up of dreams,
(Yes, yes, I know it's a bit of a cliche
And yet for certain dreams, the only way.)
What dream was mine, you wonder? We'll get there.
First ev'ry tale should have a maiden fair.
Mine has two: there's a harlot and a shrew.
I like to hear the bad news first, don't you?
[To head to the Intro and Contents for "Heading to Hollywood" click here.