Tabloids Predicted the Future

The tabloids never tell you about the car chases. They never print the tales of death plunges down Mulholland, past the palaces of producers and power brokers, bending serpentine curves at fifty miles an hour, icicles of sweat drizzling down your back. They elide the left turns on red arrows and the frogger maneuvering across crowded boulevards—all for you to pull into the Bob’s Big Boy in Burbank, and realize that you were not chasing Ben Affleck after all. It was a case of mistaken identity. You almost lost your life in pursuit of a photo of Casey Affleck.