If you were not real, and wanted to lay train track,
the person you would want
is an Irving Thalberg lookalike, Monroe Stahr,
the millionaire filmmaker created by F. Scott Fitzgerald
(not the real porn actor).
He listens and researches, yes, but then
he puts his finger
(again, not the porn actor)
on the map and say 'that's where the track goes'.
And he's right: he
is created very good in business, and, parenthetically,
tragically incompetent with women.
That you're real means, flawed as is Monroe Stahr,
whomever you have putting the finger on your map
is probably less, probably worse.
He probably is mean as a sewage vent and
personable as unworn blue jeans.
No one has given him the ability
to do anything.
From what I know of men,
he won't have exercised his own, and,
when faced with potential for tragedy,
will want time off with pay for it.