You could have been anything. You were young. You were American. You looked around you and saw movie stars and millionaires and famous celebrities on televisions and billboards everywhere. And everybody told you that You could be one of them if you want to. There was nothing to stop you. You started looking around to see which billboard you wanted to be on. Started to pick out what costume you would be wearing. What kind of sunglasses? How would your hair look? And who would be running their fingers through it? You saw flashbulbs popping and pushed through the crowds and got in your limousine and told the driver to take you to all the best parties and champagne and people buzzing all around you trying to touch you wishing they could be you. But they can't, because you're the one everybody came to see. So you put on a show! You get a little wild, maybe. But that's okay. Nothing you can't handle. So you drift away on waves of adulation and a little too much of something they put in your drink and when you wake up: You realize that you planned this whole great party, but you never put any thought into how you were going to get there. You ordered the cake and the ball gown. But you never figured out how to get into it. And now it's too late. There's a lump on your arm and you've got to spend all your time worrying about that from now on. And looking around you and wondering which billboard might have a cure for that... |