City of Checkers (Adaptation)

Adaptation/fanfiction of the searing Michael J. Fox American film/work/adaptation of the novel/story about incomplete-distances readings to the 'shockwave' of city cleats.

A story adapted from my fave American city-jellyfish psyche films, Bright Lights, Big City (Michael J. Fox) with no ties to the film explicit/commercial. Thanks so much for reading (Happy Saturday), 

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Living in the city was no small-surprise of jitters or shocks or self-indulgences, even if it was New York line for post-divorce clericals-work sidelining my desperation-act of seeking novel-concept adaptation for Earthling superstitions of the jaded-variety. My name's Amlan Satan, and I'm a Slovak-Algerian NY-Catholic immigrant/citizen/sports-fan and writer working in a special bureaucracy-position editing travel-pieces for my stern overbearing boss (Clara) who makes mark of me for my Selfie 'culture' of incomplete-distances readings of vanity drawn from basic American Homeland comforts/pillows. Follow along, friends.

CLARA: You're pleased?
ME: Well, boss...I didn't think this 2009 micro-crash of Wall-St. would make riches!

CLARA: You invested in Ford, and it skied from $1-15/share in just 1 year, Satan.

ME: Well, boss...I still intend to live in this big city of lights and towers (ha).

CLARA: You mean to make light of my stern bureaucracy wonder of your duties?

ME: Well, no...I mean, I just wanted to think I'd escape from my divorce-angst!

CLARA: Still depressed over the departure of Esmerelda, Amlan Satan (eh?).

ME: Well, maybe my work with travel-tedium makes me think Freudian-heights.

CLARA: That's not funny, Satan; this office is a reflection of the city; it's work!

ME: Sure, and I don't wanna give the impression my Wall-St. IQ leads to TV/vanity.

CLARA: I see you at a Detroit Lions game for Thanksgiving courting cheerleaders.

ME: Ha, that's a good nihilism-language, boss...maybe this city's transformed me.

CLARA: Facebook-like (for leviathan/uncertainty)?

Of course, Clara saw right through me. I was en-route to a Lions-Thanksgiving game hoping the video-screens would flash an image in real-time of your fave-Earth prince waving to cheer for a Lions miracle and getting a 'spotlight-hyperbole' for wealth won and wooing some gorgeous American beauty, a Thanksgiving-football TV-culture cheerleader for those 'pesky' incomplete-arts of vanity blended with Earth realm jars of pure simplified American Dream ambition(s). Of course, Clara (my overbearing Hitler-boss!) was right...about me...and I was depressed...about my ex-wife (Esmerelda), post-divorce after discovering she left a low-brow Bartleby with writer's-block to pursue French toast fashion line vanity for anything that was non-Freudian jellyfish (Selfie-like). This was an American tragedy, but I doubt Theodore Dreiser would pay heed for me (Facebook-like).

CHEERLEADER: You're my prince, friend.

ME: I've got this 'fantastic' Matt Stafford Detroit-QB rookie football-card (signed!).

CHEERLEADER: So, we're to Brussels for a waffle-house with your Wall-St. money?

ME: Why, of course...the city-line (NY) may be bloody murdering me.

CHEERLEADER: You've won this mannequin, for a capitalist-line, Amlan Satan.

ME: Thanx (God's jewelry).

"Doing well is the result of doing good. That's what capitalism is all about" (Ralph Waldo Emerson). 

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"Money is everything" (Ecclesiastes)