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"I'm going to have to visit these people," Glazer continues, "show them my product and say, 'This is Kansas City -- we need help.'"
You can't argue with that.
"Look at the street corners," Glazer adds indignantly. "The town is gray, it's boring, it's dull -- it's as boring as a dial tone. As a guy who's a visionary, I'll go out and sell this product to bring people to our city. Look at 18th and Vine. Give it to me for a year, and I'll make it another Westport for the urban kids, urban families, where they can have a good time. I can turn that Gem Theater into Def Comedy Jam from New York."
You want to believe him, because you can imagine it all, just like Glazer can.
"I'm sorry," he says, his voice going quiet and sad. "I'm not proud of my hometown when I look around now. The only time you see a smile on the faces of people in Kansas City used to be on a Sunday when the Chiefs won a football game. I've heard [Barnes] say I'm going to have to explain my past. I get up and tell the public: Yes, I have been bankrupt. Yes, I sued my sons. Yes, I had some tax problems. Open my closet door."
Then he's off again. The deal with Stan is that the mayor is right. There's just something unseemly about his past. But Stan's right about the mayor, too. There's just something disgusting about the present.