Walking up past a big hotel, I have to maneuver around a couple of dozen people lined up on both sides of the exit end of the hotel’s little horseshoe driveway. The crowd could be categorized as a minor throng. I crane my head over to the driveway – there’s some activity among the parking attendants and doormen, but I don’t spot a personality that might inspire a crowd. I turn my attention back to the people on the sidewalk – they don’t seem to be reporters or photographers. A teenager is holding a magazine open in front of him and I take a glance as I walk past – two full-page portraits of a greased-up muscle man with an exaggerated menacing expression on his face. Another man is holding an oversized wrestling championship belt over his shoulder. As I get around the group, I see a blonde beefy guy pulling his red convertible slowly toward the crowd. He coasts for a second when he hits the sidewalk, and stops the car in the space between the two lines of fans. Everyone in the crowd simultaneously takes one careful step toward the car. I turn back the way I was going and continue up the hill.