Early morning trucks rolled in to wire Big Media to the stars.
Immense wheels beat asphalt streets like drum-skins, deafening. Big Media cameras; cables; generators; crews with headsets, walkie-talkies, official Big Media caps; wireless phones; caterers; buffet tables; Klieg lights; microphones; tents; guards; interns; factotums; trailers; wardrobes; make-up artists; lackeys; bit-players, stars and miles and miles of wire, all issued from Executive minds out West.
Money, Power. Big Media made manifest. In the beginning the Word of Big Media blew East to The City, omnipresent, ambiguous as wind.
The taping had begun, commotion unavoidable. The Show became The City. Cast, crew, tents, barricades colonized the Street. A path of no-man’s-land was laid by wearers of head-sets and walkie-talkies, who urged pedestrians to use the street across the park—except certain passersby who displayed local authenticity and color for the never idle cameras.
Impressed, not awed, by sheer production power Big Media mobilized. Even its by-products a massive undertaking (tourists, police overseers, news crews soaking everything even themselves—cameras on camera). Spectacular parade.
BEING had warned this day would come. He served food to famous and soon-to-be-famous faces. The coming of Big Media meant BEING worked. BEING at the stars’ buffet scooped melon-balls into a crystal dish.