And then the adventure whisks you away.

One minute you’ve got plans and schedules and the next . . . well, the next . . . you walk into work and they tell you there’s no money.

That’s what happened yesterday. Yep, after three months of starts, stops, promises and excuses, Capitol Films finally conceded – they essentially gave us 24 hours to pack up the accounting office and get out of town. They’ve got a roughly 30 million dollar mess on their hands – a movie that’s 95% in the can and 100% in the toilet.

I’m pissed. We all are. Capitol Films is splitting town with no intention to pay the shooting crew’s last week of pay that they worked so hard for. And they have no intention to pay the vendors who extended support and services for the making of the famously troubled film I’ve been working on for two months called “Nailed.”

Flown in as an emergency assistant accountant, I knew what I was getting myself into when I took this job with Capitol Films. I knew that they are very slow to give up the money. It’s like the ‘studio’ heads over there are in some fantasy world where they think that filmmaking doesn’t require funding. David Bergstein, the owner of Capitol Films has a ga-jillion bucks in his bank account. And doesn’t care that he’s fucking over hundreds of people.

If I’d have known that they were going to skip town owing millions of dollars, I would not have come here.

So, with 24 hours notice, I’m jetting town. Today. This afternoon, heading to Nashville, Tennessee for a little recuperation . . . one day I had Fourth of July plans with new local friends in Columbia, South Carolina . . . and the next thing I know . . . I’m hopping a plane without even time for a proper good-bye. I had my travel plans switched after they dropped the bomb on us because it’ll just be too depressing to stay, knowing the swath of monetary destruction that this horrible company is leaving in their wake.

Plus, if I don’t leave today . . . who knows if the ticket will be good later?

So, here I am in my hotel room this morning . . . tired, a bit hung-over and bleary-eyed. I’ve got about an hour to pack, but I’ve been on stand-by mode for weeks now, ready to jet literally at a moment’s notice. But I thought I’d have some sort of warning . . . nope . . . whoosh.

Here one minute, gone the next. On the road again. Ahh, the open road.