sometimes it's better to stand out of the worship, treating self christened demi-gods like people.

'if I interviewed one, they might try to borrow a cigarette. (I don't smoke, not yet), they might have had to sneak away. Exasperated, they'd tell me about how hard it is to be "on" all the time -- how the parlor tricks get tiring to them, how the attention is draining, how the novelty of the currency of notoriety is abrasive. Even just a day off would be nice.

"Let me be your day off," I'd say, to which they'd reply with a thin smirk under sad, sunken eyes.

"I've heard that one before. No matter how serious you're being right now, I don't think I can stomach another bedside movie pitch thinly veiled as late night coffee hours before."

"You remind me of someone."

"Thanks for the talk."

and back they would fall, into the loving, embracing, greasy arms of the believers. I hope I should see them again someday, under the layers painted on by a thousand hands.

I wonder what it would be like to feel like the paint is betraying you, and just let the crisp March creep over your regular skin, here or there on a Tuesday night.'