Driving his majestic Town Car eastward, back toward Hollywood, Richard silently ruminated about his checkered employment history: chicken rancher (failed), clown children’s birthday parties, only--no circus work), stand-up comedian (two gigs at minor clubs—none in Hollywood) and now, chauffeur. My God, he thought, I am either a miserable failure or a Renaissance man! He preferred to think of himself as a Renaissance man.
He then glanced in the rearview mirror at the handsome couple in the back seat. They look successful, he thought, even if she DID lie to me about her and her husband going to the beach.
A few moments later he consoled himself, Even if I AM a failure, I’ll bet things will get better, a little further up the road.
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