If I were a film star, I'd be a silent movie film star from the 20s. Probably Clara Bow.
I would drink too much and engage in sordid sex scandals. I would have short bobbed hair and smoke cigarettes out of a long cigarette holder. I would dive, intoxicated, into fountains and hang out with prominent men who wore stinky, shedding racoon coats and slicked their hair back.
And I would paint my cheeks a ghostly white pallor and have flaming red hair.
Eventually, I'd collapse into obscurity with the advent of the talkies, plow through three or four bad marriages, and die an alcoholic, drugged and disoriented.
The news crew would come to my house to present a lifetime achievement award for my dramatic film roles, and the best I could do would be to mutter incoherently.
I would drink too much and engage in sordid sex scandals. I would have short bobbed hair and smoke cigarettes out of a long cigarette holder. I would dive, intoxicated, into fountains and hang out with prominent men who wore stinky, shedding racoon coats and slicked their hair back.
And I would paint my cheeks a ghostly white pallor and have flaming red hair.
Eventually, I'd collapse into obscurity with the advent of the talkies, plow through three or four bad marriages, and die an alcoholic, drugged and disoriented.
The news crew would come to my house to present a lifetime achievement award for my dramatic film roles, and the best I could do would be to mutter incoherently.