He walked halfway across the bridge. He paused and turned back toward the churning crowd. The people standing there were great artists, at least until he turned back toward them and, with a wave, downgraded them all. Who had given him the power to do so? They had, each and every one of them. The half-dozen frontmost artists began to charge across the bridge with mad eyes. They meant to kill him. He began to talk as quickly as he could, as loud as he could. He wanted from his words a firehose to repel the coming crowd. “In the future,” he said, “everyone will be world famous for fifteen minutes. In the future, no one will be famous for more than fifteen minutes. In the future, no one will be famous. In the future, no one will be famous to everyone. No one ever got famous saying ‘In fifteen minutes, it will be the future.’” At the conclusion of this last variation, the crowd reached him and began to remove his limbs from his body.
©2020 Ben Greenman/Stupid Ideas
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