She was a practical girl

She was a practical girl who liked pretty tools. I was a temporary drunk on a one time bender. Only so much use for a bent tool. I hammered out the rest of my days in dulled sobriety. She went to the toolbox for something shiny and new. We met once again on a movie set. They were ruining my most important script. She was arm in arm with the star. He sure butchered what was left of my lines. I cashed in on the box office. Started drinking for real. That's how I ended up back in Hollywood. Rich as the finest gem in a plaster setting. Alone as the last of a breed of naive Americans. Sipping something extraordinary with which I flooded Mulholland Drive, flowing through every canyon road, down to the valley on one side, onto Sunset on the other, spreading, rolling, until every street in the city limits was a distributary of a river of elixir - sharing my meaningless wealth in a mostly destructive but ever so slightly revolutionary way.