“That won’t work, it will not get you far in Los Angeles. THAT is not an LA car” the art dealer prophesied, pointing at the Legman’s Ford Taurus outside a Williamsburg gallery when we announced our bailing the Big Bagel. His words were driven home each day since. From dirty stare downs at reds from blond air heads to comments from valets (this at the Beverly Hills Hotel “Are you, like, STAYING here?”) nowhere in this car nut town did we see the respect our NYP tagged HuMPT (highly mobile multi purpose Taurus) drew parked on Bronx sidewalks, sans hub caps 5-O style, across 2000 crime scenes. Over 10 years of duty, shotgun and bottle of Beam beneath our seat, the Bull which traversed the nation twice, hit all five boroughs in a single day chasing stories for a major metropolitan newspaper, braved subzero trips to Montreal, and on 9/11 barrelled down the West Side in a state trooper convoy to ground zero at 90mph, has been impounded by LAPD sanctioned tow pirates.Held hostage at twice its blue book value, this bankrupt banana republic city can have it. Villaraigosa ain’t getting Legman’s filthy lucre. The car that hauled our books, paintings, kids, bimbos, has In accordance to the prophecy ended its run, succumbing to LA. Concomitantly, the prophetic dealer’s gallery has reached its final act too. Check out Jack The Pelican’s ultimate exhibition “The Sacred Comic Book” at 487 Driggs Ave, bet N. 9 and N. 10th Street February 20– until the marshal comes (1, 2, 3… weeks?)