"There's a real hunger for it
right now, all the gossip and the trash. This real almost joyful
reveling in the misery of their lives...."
"Yeah," Dexter agreed with
Frank. "Maybe it's some sort of justice thing?"
Frank sipped his coffee,
shifted on the steps of the trailer. Faint music could be heard from
inside, someone singing along. "How do you mean?"
Dexter scanned the
floodlit parking lot, the herd of the other trailers. Angst's, Pity's, Aqua's. "Like, there's not a lot of accountability these days, the bad
guys get away with all the lying and greed and abuses of power... So
maybe we're hungry to see people get what we think they deserve..."
"So
the celebrities are the symbolic martyrs for our jealous resentment of
the powerful?"
Dexter checked the time on his cell. "Well, we build them
and then we tear them down. But instead of going after the real
villains, the ones with real power, we attack these constructs. It's
almost a religious sacrifice-of-gods-thing."
Frank ground out his
cigarette. It was almost time to get her on set. "You think the kings
and companies have the real power? That, in the final tally, an army is
more mighty than a book? Who wins in the fight between MacDonald's and
the Bible? The Senate or The Koran? Microsoft or The Art of War?"
Dexter
smirked. "You're just trying to validate the importance of art because
you work security for an up-and-coming film star."
Frank laughed and
knocked on the trailer door. "Ms. Fujimoria? It's time."
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