At the Los Angeles International Airport, Martin strutted in a showy white short trench coat, donned a pair of black sunglasses, and was followed by his bag-carrying lackey Bruce. The mere few dozen meters from the car to the airport entrance exuded an eighteen-meter aura, turning heads around him as many mistook him for a major celebrity on the move.
Paparazzi and freelance reporters long stationed at the airport swarmed over upon seeing his getup.
Before even reaching him, the camera flashes began to fire.
Once they realized it was an unfamiliar face, they covertly flipped him off and dispersed with a rumble.
The few who regularly followed internet forums and B-movies vaguely recognized Martin and snapped a few extra pictures.
Among the remaining two freelance reporters, the woman asked her colleague, "Can we at least make back the cost of the film and developing?"
The male colleague was very pessimistic, "It's going to be tough."
