So I'm in a movie, I'm strolling, I've got wide shoulders and a suit cut to fit them perfectly, like ones worn by Robert Mitchum, you know, when he looks the business - but no, hold on, is this a Noir or a Romance? Am I about to meet a femme fatale who will drag me to Hell with her? Or is it a Romance? Is this California or Rome? It's Rome and I'm about to climb onto a scooter, shoot 'round several fountains and meet Gina Lollobrigida for evening drinks in a piazza, filmed by Fellini...that's it...and Chet Baker's Smog is the perfect soundtrack because it was made in Italy, but in '62, not the 50s, never mind - it's...Co-o-o-o-l...and so am I, in this film.
We were all Cool in the 80s, when the Pharoah Sanders tracks was played in clubs, usually as a wind-down-epic-let's-get-spiritual thing, a job it did perfectly, even though I'm not a believer in Him or any 'masterplan' - I believed in something...like...the long romantic night of the soul searchers blowing the blues away with Horace Silver and living a Lush Life (Strayhorn) of a kind...
...I digress, from the film I was in, but Life's a digression - "From what?" you ask. From the inevitable big sleep...and fantasies about starring in films where I'm Cool, handsome and riding a scooter 'round Rome is one way I'll pass time, if you don't mind.
PS: God, if you exist, can you do something really clever and let me wake up tomorrow morning looking like Chet Baker in his prime? Thanks.