Mulholland Drive

Mulholland Drive (2001)

Think of tall leaning palm trees and parakeets, vast swarms and families of them, living up there in the tall tree tops, chattering with each other, sleeping together, making love, think how I must look to them far down below, in the mangrove keys of sidewalks and unresponsive manicured lawns, well-kept Cuban art deco bungalows and apartment houses, where somebody like me, a strange fellow bird, a stork with a long neck, might pause in the shade, feathered, making some inane comment, there on the boulevard, beneath the palms, all in a row, with tops like fistfuls, full of green, pink, mauve love-squawkings, gawking down from another world, while I get into my shiny rowboat Jaguar, going to a movie or the gym, barely disturbing the scene overhead

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