The river sang to itself. It sang its summer song, of fish below, reeds waving in the current, the dip of a bird’s bill as it flashed down and skimmed over the surface. The song kept time against the shore and against the raft as it floated down the MississippiYou get the idea ... it goes on from there and is simultaneously hilarious and sad (as we suspect this is a reflection of all too real Hollywood thinking). Read it at McSweeneys. Via Heather at CraftLit.
- Must it be the Mississippi? Why not someplace more exotic—the Nile or Ganges, perhaps?
- Could run up the costs, but we’ll check it out.
Huck dangled his feet into the water. He lay on his back, watching the last lace filigree of cloud pull aside to reveal a night full of stars. Jim stood at the stern, pole in hand, watching the dark surface of the river rise and move in its slow dance.
“What do you think, Jim?” said Huck. “Were the stars born or just made?”
- Which one is black?
- Okay, is he more a Morgan, or a Denzel?
- The focus group suggested Will.
- Will! Yes. Very bankable. And Huck is a woman, right?
- Um… we didn’t test that possibility.