Interstate 60

There's this theory.

Given an infinite universe and infinite time,

all things will happen.

That means that every event is inevitable

including those that are impossible.

That's as good explanation for all this as anything else.

Now, a lot of stories start in bars,

so that's where we are going to stars this one.

Not because that I was there, I wasn't.

But because it is a damn good introduction

to a very unique, fellow.

- Legends of every major culture all contain

some sort of character whose purpose is to grand wishes.

Except Americas.

The Arabs have jinni's.

The Irish have leprechauns.

The Chinese have dragons and monkeys.

The Europeans have fairies and wood sprits.

But who do we have?

Santa Claus?

- Santa Claus just brings presents.

He doesn't grand wishes.

Satan. He grants wishes.

- Zack, Satan predate American culture.

He doesn't grand wishes, he makes deals.

All right, I give up.

What do we have here? - No one.

That's my thesis.

Our culture is unique in having no such mythology and--

Oh, you're wrong my friend.

Excuse me?

- There is a fella in America, who grants wishes.

And only one to a customer.

And who is this fella?

O.W. Grant.

That's his usual name. He's got many others.

And he's an elusive son of a bitch.

You'd get easier time finding a jinni.

- So how come, we've never heard of this O.W. Grant?

- You haven't heard O.W. Grant, 'cause America

is a much younger place than Ireland or Arabia.

Not too many people have had the chance to meet up with him.

Let me guess. You have.

- I met him out at Interstate 60.

Accidentally, that's his way.

Folks don't find him, he finds them.

He just kinda happens in to them, and they don't know who

he is or what he does until he does it.

And mostly he messes with them, plays tricks,

'cause that's his way too, but sometimes,

if he takes a shine to you, he'll play it straight.

Now, one story says that his daddy was a leprechaun,

came over here with Irish.

Now, midgets are notorious skirt chasers.

This leprechaun goes and knocks up a Cheyenne Indian.

Cheyenne get the land taken away in the end up

with the immortal, nomadic half-breed with magical powers.

- Interstate 60, you said? - Hmmm?

- So, what does this O.W. Grant look like?

Red bow tie.

He smokes a pipe, carved in the image of a monkey.

Maybe you'd be better of writing your

thesis without mentioning O.W.

He'd probable rather not have people knowing about him.

- You got it. - Good night.

Hey Quincy, check this out.

There is no Interstate 60.

I-65, 64, 66, and 69.

No I-60.

- I guess tonight's everybody's full-of-shit night.

Guy with a red bow tie and a monkey pipe, who grants wishes.

Right.

No, damn it, look,

I need, that bid in before 12.

Yeah it's critical, just.

Right, call West.

Holy shit!

You broke the jaw.

- I'm sorry mister, I didn't see you.

Are, are you OK come on?

Are you all right?

Jesus.

Don't! Stop!

Oh man!

My bike!

Look, I'm sorry. I'll pay.

Oh goddammit!

Oh goddammit, look at my suit.

Oh shit...

Oh fuck.

I've got a sales meeting at 11 o'clock.

This is a fucking disaster.

My phone is my fucking life line.

Goddammit.

- Oh I say everything happens for a reason.

May I guess, I just needed a new bike.

- I, for one, did not need this shit in my life.

Not today. Of all fucking days!

Goddammit, I wish, this had never happened!

I wish, it hadn't happened, I wish, it hadn't happened!

Was that your wish?

If you had a wish, you wished, this hadn't happened?

Fucking-A right!

Granted!

Mr. Baker.

How did you know my name?

Damn it, I need the bid in before 12.

Yeah it's critical.

Look, just call West have him fax

the time sheet to the main office.

Get it there by, speak up, I can't hear you.

I said I--

- Some people just don't know what to wish for.

- As for my part in this story, well,

it began on a Tuesday, September 18th.

My birthday, my 22nd birthday to be exact.

Oh, I'm Neal Oliver.

And this mess, is my apartment in St. Louis. Missouri.

Should I wear a tie to lunch?

Damn.

Happy birthday Neal, oh sweetie.

Truth.

You are not mad, that I'm bailing on you tonight?

No, no no no.

I mean how cool it you be for you,

to bomb your psyche-test because of a stupid concert.

- No ah-ah, you have got to wait until lunch.

That's your family rules.

But you can open this, I intercepted your snail mail.

It's the reality check.

I'm game over on the art scholarship.

- Well you should at least open it.

- I can tell a rejection by weight.

- You are the wrong sex, the wrong color

and your family has too much money, I'm sorry.

- Just don't, don't mention anything to my old man, please.

- You are so weird. - What?

- Well, you actually supposed to cut your grapefruit

in half and eat it with a spoon

not peel it, and eat it like an orange.

Oh look. it's her.

Again.

Should I be like jealous?

Well maybe if she was real.

So, I had another dream about her, last night.

She was in jail, it's gotta mean something.

- I'll tell you what it means, you saw her once somewhere

and it made a subconscious impression,

the impression came back to you in a dream, so you drew her

which made the impression stronger.

You dream, you draw, you draw, you dream

Now it's a vicious cycle.

So quit drawing her, and it'll end.

Well, thank you Carl Jung.

Fact is, I enjoy drawing her.

But, am I. Am I any good at this Sally?

Because today is the deadline of the Conrad Competition.

Now should I even enter a piece?

Don't ask me Neal.

I don't want to be judgmental.

But I do know, that just because you enjoy doing something,

doesn't necessarily mean that you should make it

your career.

Here, no worries.

- As I said it all started on my 22nd birthday.

Specifically here.

At my traditional birthday lunch.

As always, my father had picked the restaurant.

Attending with the usual suspects.

Sally, who my parents actually liked maybe

even more than I did.

My dad Daniel. Attorney at law.

My mom Marlene. The attorney's wife.

And my sister and best friend Nancy.

Put on earth by the grace of God,

to keep me from going insane.

- OK, OK so what did you wish for?

Please tell me that it was something about us.

- I'm guessing, he wished he could go skydiving again.

God forbid.

Oh no, no. Neal you didn't.

- Why, if I tell her, it won't come true.

- Actually that's an old wife's tale.

The truth is, you should always tell your wish.

Kinda karma thing, put it out there, project it.

Then it just might come true.

Never heard of that before.

Oh, it's true. Believe me.

I know.

I'll cut this for you.

- OK, so now you have to tell us.

Yeah, come on, tell us Neilo.

OK.

I wished for...

An answer.

- An answer, OK an answer to what?

An answer to my life.

Here it is.

Happy birthday son.

Your admission to the Bradford Law Fellowship.