On this 71st Birthday of the movie “The Wizard of Oz.” Something very strange just happened.
A molten steel force of heat slaps the face of a simmering city of Chicago. So three lonely souls spotting separate shady benches in Oz Park, a respite of green on the north side of the city, all take their respective seats, let out 3 sighs of relief and think at the exact same time, “I will sit for a moment. Just to take a breath.”
The first, a non-descript man of indeterminate age, you would pass him and not look twice, takes out a shopping list. Studies it. And wonders what will happen when the money is gone and nothing on this list can be paid for.
The second, a slender blond woman with long legs and big green eyes that are always asking questions, takes out her I-Phone, checks her email, sees there is nothing, knows that he is gone, and then wonders how long before the lay offs come and she’s gone too.
The third, a young man with a moustache, has to be an actor on his way to an audition because they simply don’t wear suits like that anymore. Not since oh, maybe 1900 or so. If anyone was watching, which they aren’t, they’d see that his bench has now vanished. He’s sitting on a chair. On the table in front of him, a typewriter! Right there! In Oz Park! But of course no one is watching him.
The man, L. Frank Baum–he goes by Frank– stops typing for a moment. Looks off into the distance.
Wonders how the scarecrow would make it in all this heat. Knows that it will get worse before it gets better. Way worse.
But then he thinks, what if that scarecrow could sing?
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wOKK8mAkiUI]