MAX WISECRACKS HOLLYWOOD

I, Max Royster, cannot run fifty yards or see my own feet under a beer belly. Pushing 64-years old, I struggle to rebuild, after the New York ,cops fired me for depression and hijacked my pension. Like everything else sliding around loose, I wind up in Hollywood, California.  , , , ,By chance, I see a female Black LAPD cop grapple with a homeless woman, an ex-Blaxploitation film actress who 40-years ago turned Civil Rights radical.  , , , ,The homeless woman dies.  , , , ,Sidewalk Angelenos heave rocks and bottles in protest.  , , , ,Los Angeles screams. Cops retreat and haul me to the station.  , , , ,An ambitious Deputy District Attorney and the hard-charging FBI play tug-of-war-witness [?] over my fast-aging body. Everyone wants to jail me as a material witness for trial.  , , , ,To stay clear, I go underground with a cryptic Hollywood beauty and learn much on the floor of her apartment. The media turns up the heat. The G-men freeze my cash.  , , , ,All that I have left are my wits and the cash in my bluejeans._,