Tumbledown Page #2

a windswept field of high grass

and dying light,

otherworldly, Elysian."

Ugh. "The man was singing

from transcendence

long before his soul floated

across that deep cold river...

yet he shines with hope.

He pulls you beneath the covers

for a flashlit whisper session...

shining on to who we are,

what we run from...

and who we hope

in our hearts to become."

I'll make other plans

To meet you

On a distant shore

Of your choosing

Be your guiding light

On the horizon...

Hannah on machine:

Hi, I'm not here.

Leave a message.

Andrew:

Okay, look, um,

I just assumed

after a couple of years...

you might be ready to talk about him.

I misjudged that

and I am really sorry.

But your husband means

a lot to me, genuinely.

All right, I'll tell you what.

I'm getting something

to eat at the diner

and then I'm leaving town, okay?

But I-- I really want

my notebook back, man.

Or what's left of it, anyway.

All right.

All I've decided

is that I'll listen to you.

Okay, but it's going to be

the sound of chewing for a minute.

You got 30 seconds.

Make your case.

Okay, well, I'm not going

to need that long.

I want to make

your husband immortal.

That's a cruel thing to say.

No, no, what's cruel is no matter

how good his music was,

it's getting buried in an avalanche

of cheesy singles.

Someone needs to build a monument

to raise him up above the rubble.

Right, and that's you?

Associate Professor of Truth

on your hog?

It's not a hog.

It's a cafe racer.

It's European.

Come on.

Here. Ahem.

Got a few questions.

Yeah, well, me first.

So this book of yours...

It's not gossip.

It's not reference,

it's not fiction, okay?

But it is wildly romantic.

It's about the chorus

of lost voices--

artists, poets, musicians,

all of whom failed to navigate

out of the woods of their youth.

And to understand why,

what I'm trying to do

is deconstruct the edifice

of commodification

that I believe our society

has entombed the creative urge.

I mean, he's like the patron saint

of this whole ethos.

You know what?

I'm not that worried.

Nobody's reading this book.

What do you want to know?

Um, yeah.

Okay, so Hunter grew up in Philly.

Yeah? He's a drummer

in a punk band, right?

Suddenly he's singing

his heart out

on the edge of the earth

with an acoustic guitar.

- How the hell does that happen?

- He loved it up here.

Did he?

I mean, I--

he loved you

and you're from up here.

All right, yeah.

The whole thing is my fault.

- Can I get that out of the way for you?

- Oh, yeah. Right.

You know what?

I'll take that home for the hounds.

- Are we done?

- No. No, no, no.

You know what?

What I really want to know is,

you know, like--

okay, here is a sensitive soul

who gives us a single,

nearly perfect album

from the woods of Maine, right?

And then before all the tours

and the radio play

the chaos, the corruption...

poof, he's gone.

You know, what happened?

Like, some accident

or something?

Yeah.

I'll be right back.

Hey, Hannah, just let me

talk to you, okay?

Okay, McCabe.

You got good taste in music.

You got your theories about

consumer blah-blah, but here's the deal.

Any monument

that gets built for him,

I'm laying the bricks.

Okay, will you--

hold on, all right?

Whoa! Hey, easy.

Look, I just want to say, man,

I'm sorry.

I'm terribly sorry you want

to just let him slip away for good.

You know, I hope you get promoted

or rich or on "The View"

or whatever it is that made you

haul yourself up here.

Get off my truck.

You're condemning

a genius to obscurity.

Work on this with me.

I am working on it, dickweed.

- I'm writing his biography.

- What?

Wait, hold on.

Stop.

- No.

- Roll it down right now, please.

Come on, let's talk about this.

Please!

Okay. Fine.

Never mind.

Nice meeting you.

Andrew:

She just stonewalled me.

I mean, I don't even know

if I can use him in the book at all.

That sucks,

because he would have been

the cornerstone

of the whole frigging'...

Look, he wrote

one surprising album,

he had a lot of potential,

and it sucks that he died so young.

Yeah, but, honey,

how many stacks of dissertations

have been written about,

you know--

I mean, hell, you got Cobain,

Buckley, Arbus.

Elliott Smith, Nick Drake,

David Foster Wallace.

On and on, you know?

Hunter Miles?

Uncharted territory.

Walked out

on the frozen lake...

Tenure in the bag, man.

No, no, no.

This does not make or break you.

Come downtown with me.

I scout three bands a week

that are much more cutting-edge

than Hunter Miles.

I know that, honey,

but that's what's so great about him.

There's nothing

cutting-edge about him.

He's timeless.

He's...

Oh, well. Hmm?

Hey, to Hunter Miles.

Echo, echo all again

Rewind and then erase

Mainstays and saving grace

Mainstays and my resting...

Curtis:
Howdy!

Upton:
As the space pod

zoomed across the horizon,

the captain roared

in his reptilian voice,

"Lizardbot,

unleash your snot fire!"

Ha!

Upton:

Unleash!

Hannah.

Hannah Miles.

- I'll come back.

- Get over here.

I didn't know you were a fan

of "The Worm of Gondolak."

Uh, here.

Just read it, please.

It's part of an intro,

and then something like a first chapter,

and then some epilogue.

- It's a start, right?

- Uh-huh.

Um...

Uh, hold--

There's some interesting

stuff here.

It's just that I know

what you're capable of.

You know, when you're on,

you're like a fanged wolf

howling from a mountain top.

But this is a toothless piglet

lost in the woods.

Great. Thank you.

Hannah, you're attempting

the impossible.

It's okay to ask for help.

Yeah, well,

thank you, Upton,

but I'm not going

to drop this in your lap.

Well, you're welcome,

but it's not my lap I'm thinking of.

Never.

Come here.

Huh?

Andrew:

Fiction or autobiography?

Pose or confession,

Biggie was as much defined by

as he was killed by

his Ten Crack Commandments.

So I ask you,

what does that mean,

to hinge your street cred

on your own mortal evanescence?

That is all.

Oh, and, hey, just to look ahead,

after the break we're going to be

diving into the Kool Herc materials,

so start thinking

cultural appropriation,

sampling the break.

Which is not the same thing

as copy-pasting your midterms

from a Wikipedia page,

Mr. O'Brien.

Busted.

Oh, Professor.

Oh, nice surprise.

What are you doing here?

I thought you might like

some sushi.

Lifesaver. Yes, very much so.

- Yeah, we'll eat over here.

- All right.

Hold on one sec.

Hello?

Hi, it's your uncooperative

widow friend.

Well, hello there,

Miss Hannah Miles.

- How are you?

- I'm good. How's New York?

Full of too many people,

as always?

So here's the thing,

this research or whatever it is

that you're doing on my husband,

I-- I don't like it,

and Hunter would have

kicked your ass for so many reasons,

but I also think that he would have

respected your take on the songs.

Well, I'm sorry.

Respect me?

The muckraking,

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