Clark asked.
“In Hell,” I said.
“Behind the window?”
“Yes behind the window… Behind his eye lids. Up there. Down the street. Where ever.”
“Seriously,” Clark said. “I haven’t seen that stupid fuck in weeks. It’s like he’s breaking up our old gang. He used to be down here smoking and shooting the shit with us and now I ain’t seen him for weeks.”
“He’s having a rough time,” I said.
“He’s having a rough time? Why? Rough time? I’m having a rough time. Shit, you’re having a rough time. Whose not having a rough time?”
“Well he’s having a rougher time than most,” I said.
“Bull shit,” Clark said.
He was quiet and then the Helicopter came back and he was yelling at me again, “Did you see that other Spielberg movie?”
“What?”
“War of the Worlds,” He said.
“Say, was Orson Welles an alien?” I asked.
“What’s that got to do with it?”
“He did the radio War,” I yelled.
“Oh that guy. No. He was just fat. No,” Clark said. “But Hitchcock was. He was fat and an alien. You know how I know that?”
“You look at him and he’s fat,” I said.
“Rear Window… who else would make a movie where a skinny fuck like Jimmy Stewart tries to give Grace Kelley the air. He should be so lucky.”
“Well Jimmy Stewart was a big movie star,” I said.
“Not in the movie,” he said. “In the movie he was a stupid shutterbug. Grace fucking Kelley!? Please.”
“Well she wasn’t Grace Kelley in the movie either,”I pointed out.
“Who gives a shit?” Clark said. “She still looked like Grace Kelley didn’t she?”
“Yeah,”I said and I could see his point.