Martin stretched, then stared at the roof of his camper just above his head. In a couple of minutes, he would paw through the last of the change in the ashtray and see if there was enough to buy a coffee at McDonalds. For now, he wanted to get the self-pity out of the way.

In the month since Quentin died in a puddle of Martin's fake blood, not one director would even talk to him. Nobody wanted him. It didn't help that the rumour mill said Martin had posted that video of Quentin. The ...