Chad didn’t care that none of the other “Miami Vice” stand-ins bothered to dress the part. They had hired him to be Crockett – so he would be the best damned Crockett he could be. Not only did he have Johnson’s build, his clothes, his jawline… he also had his every move down pat: a study in muscle memory that Lee Strasberg was bound to notice, even if nobody else did. To get that walk, and every head turn, down pat, he had secretly followed The Don around for over a week. The Actor’s Studio would have to let him in, once he sent them this tape.
Then it all went south on him– even further south than Key West. Next thing Chad knew, two cops had him in cuffs, and The Don was screaming at him from the craft services table: “Stop stalking me, you weird-ass little punk!”
Chad took it in stride. He didn’t need Miami. He was headed to the top –by way of New York. A real booking at the police station would simply be a gold mine of sense memories he could mine as an actor for the rest of his life. Even so, he wanted to make a good exit. Kicking and spitting, he launched into Pacino’s monologue from Dog Day Afternoon: “Attica! Attica!”
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Photo taken from, story inspired by, and first submitted at:
For a brisk run through Method Actor Al Pacino’s Top Ten Rants:
For more on the genre of short short fiction (aka micro-narrative, flash fiction, smoke longs, etc.):
If you want , try one below yourself. Just try a 300-word or less tale answering Wil’s simple question about the strange catalog guy: “What’s this guy’s story?”