Sweet Enola Gay! Minutes ago I was just standing outside of the redundantly-named Nina's Coffee Cafe smoking a cigarette when some young blond woman, a complete stranger, comes up to me and says:
"Excuse me, are you in Chasing Windmills?"
I wish I would have had a photograph of my face upon hearing that. In spite of my earlier joking, this is something that I never dreamed would really happen.
"And you played a stalker?"
"How did you ever get the part?"
Now here is where I fucked up. I could have launched into some wildly improbable story that ended with,
"So would you like a part in Chasing Windmills? I bet I can get you one. C'mon, let's go talk about it over a beer...."
This of course is the subject of an earlier post. The point is, ingrate that I am, I spat in the face of the golden once-in-a-lifetime opportunity that Fate had handed me and instead told her the real story (that I blackmailed Cristina with the threat of posting photos of her when she was in her Robert Smith phase). When will I ever learn?
I suppose it's too much to hope that this chance will ever come again. But just in case, the rest of the afternoon I'll be muttering suitable lines to myself, trying them out to see how they sound and then packing them away in my brain in a small section that says "Break Glass If Recognized From Chasing Windmills By Strange Woman" and that has a little hammer hanging on a chain next to it.