We were like a regular little family, or would be until little Mothra was born. After that, Nora’s plans veered macro: into global techno-chemical reform and worldwide notoriety, among other things. Though she was never absolutely specific about how she was going to bring the world’s attention to young Mutando. She just believed. Thanks to network TV employment I was able to rent us a little house in Echo Park. CBS wanted more “extreme stories.” I said, “Cool.” It was like being paid to think up fucked-up shit, the one skill I’d acquired cranking out pharma-copy. Because, really, what else did mainstream old-time network-watching America want on a Thursday at 9 p.m.? No problem at all, provided I didn’t bring Nora back to the set, and risk her reverting back to klepto-adolescence again and ganking another prop. For better or worse, no possible episodes of the shock-the-masses Vegas murder series compared to what was happening, in real life, at home.
