Sid, man, sad day, man. We regret to have to inform you of James Lamb's death. Your friend, Lou Ossip told us you knew him as well. If nothing else, the wake could be a meeting place at which you could try to land some jobs. We hear you're trying to make it as a playwrite. Your wife Vanessa said she would probably meet you there.
Snide Aside:
By the way, the year is 1964. Your work as a playwrite has been described as vulgar,
pessimistic, drug-crazed and base. But what the hell do you care.
You're an artist. Inspired by the beat generation, the likes of Jack Kerouac,
Allen Ginsburg and the like. Your references to bodily fluids is mostly for shock
value in a society dominated by false security, suburban bliss and macho patriotism.
Roumer has it you were a heroin addict and are currently exploring hallucinogens,
having seen everything from Indian Gurus to
Spaceheroes to Voodoo Freaks.
An actor-friend of yours, Lou Ossip, will also be at the wake.