Urban Legend (4)

66.6
This is the mile marker on the odometer at which I find God.
Where I find God is, on a large, highway billboard, off 40 West; the gigantic sign piercing the parking lot of the Our Perpetual Lady of Sorrow Something Something Baptist Church in Mebane.
“Looking for a second chance?” the thing says in two-story, white letters. And then a cyclopean arrow pointing down toward the ground.
Hell.
My guess is the blockheads wanted this clever piece of marketing to include the arrow pointing at the church building, but instead got the hard and fast version from Herb Tarlik.
Hell?
But my guess comes at nearly 90 miles per hour, so there’s not much time for reflection, refraction, cogitation, or any of that other bullshit literary mother sauces the French were so good at.
See also: Jean Paul Sartre.
See also: Andre Gide.
Mile marker 66.6.
Right about now I could use a second chance. Third. Fourth. In God’s waiting room He’s playing Barry Manilow’s “Copacabana.”
Chuck Mangione’s “Hill Where the Lord Hides.”
Air Supply’s “Even the Nights Are Better.”
The billboard inviting all the lost souls to join Pastor Xavier Rafer Wilmington Jr. every Wednesday night and twice on Sundays, is quickly succeeded by some horrid, orange Hooters sign saying something about family friendly and chicken wings.
Mile marker 66.7.

“Who am I supposed to be again, Dude?”
That’s Benny from the last one. Benny Blanco. His stage name. His driver’s license says Bernard K. White. Male. Twenty-seven years of age. Wears corrective lenses. “Other” for race. And so, my Benny. Benny Blanco. Not much of a stretch.
“Like John Leguizamo’s character in…”
Carlito’s Way.
I know. I went to film school. We took down and eviscerated Dziga and Leni and Maya and both the goddamn Lumiére brothers–Auguste and Louis and their fucking train arriving into the station. So Carlito’s Way is not a big stretch. During Battleship Potempkin, some squash head, black turtleneck and Doc Martens freak kept talking about Einstein. Einstein broke the X-axis rule. Einstein employed a circular cinematic visual trick.
Only it’s Eisenstein.
Fucking black turtlenecks and Doc Martens. In film schools.
“Dude, are you paying attention?”
I tell him he’s supposed to be me.
In a splenetic, anarchic glee Benny says, “Dude, that’s like…feeding John Barrymore that ‘nobody puts Baby in the corner’ line. That’s how wicked that is. You know that line?”
And I do. I went to film school. Nobody got to put Baby in the corner. Not even Jerry Orbach.
Photographs depict damage to automobiles caused by exploding aerosol cans. Photographs show a man falling from a skyscraper while occupants grasp at him through a window. Video shows car striking another vehicle at an intersection, sending the second car into a pedestrian. Security camera footage shows a man with briefcase crossing railroad tracks, absentmindedly talking on a cellphone, suddenly being struck by a commuter train at station in Montauk.
I call these Fauxtography.
(Whaddya call a walking Armenian? A pedestrian.)
Photographs show a KKK member being treated by an all-black emergency room staff. Video clip shows Marc Ecko tagging Air Force One. Photograph shows an enormous, mutant cat raised by a Canadian hermaphrodite. A 119-pound coyote is killed in New York. Photograph shows a parachutist about to drop into a pond surrounded by alligators.
How I feel is…
“Dude, are you listening?”