[Originally scribbled in my little Moleskine diary]
This place looks NOTHING like the movie. Its RUBBISH.
What would they do I wonder if I turned up my collar, wandered up to a guard and asked them to round up the usual suspects out of the corner of my mouth?
Probably haul me away and lock me in the room where they keep all the other morons, all with their collars up, all sitting there gibbering and mumbling I shink thish is the beginnin of a beaudyful friendship” and “Playit, Sam, You playedit f’her, now playit f’me“ and “Juss putcha lips together and blow”, and “Frankly my dear, I don’t givadamn”, having been locked away in the Cliché Room for so long that they’ve quite lost track of which film they were aping or, in fact, which actor.
God, Im bored.