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It was a drizzly Monday, and the small crowd was distracted. As usual, it was made up mostly of tourists, so enraptured by the huge movie trailers that surrounded the Square—using new technology that made ads an actual part of the atmosphere, like clouds or birds or the rain itself—that it was hard to direct their attention to something as simple as a human being, even one who used to be famous.
Brad was philosophical about it, didn’t stress, as the old expression went; his cool, after all, had always been part of his appeal, one way he could be identified if his face wasn’t enough. Sometimes in his darkest moments, he felt his face was unmemorable, blandly handsome, interchangeable with any other actor’s, and the only things that set him apart were his sandy blonde hair and per
