Arriving in Hollywood, Riggs couldn’t even get an audition. Confidence graced him only when speaking into mirrors. He felt like an actual person then, like Hollywood. He didn’t have a car, but a roommate did, an actor needing to get to auditions. The car was a lemon, yet Riggs could fix it, not a mechanic like his father – not that – but more like an agent, they joked, making auditions happen, tuning the engine that ran Hollywood. Of course Riggs didn’t want to be an agent either, but it was better than being a mechanic.