BEN: You think Bush is as bad as Hitler?

JAY: No, he’s not. Of course he’s not as bad as Hitler. But we’ve reached a point beyond the normal— We’ve reached a point of intolerability. And he’s escalating. And we’ve got these new scandals just popping up like daisies. We’ve got to shut the man down.

BEN: Shut him down — you sound like Kissinger.

JAY: Excuse me?

BEN: Think of your kids. Why aren’t you there with them? Why aren’t you being a father to them? You need to take a look at that.

JAY: Come on, I love those kids. I know, I know I’m too much of a naysayer, I know that.

BEN: You can’t naysay all the time, it’s deadly. I have to be careful about it myself. It’s not fair to Julie.

JAY: Lousy naysayers, always down on life.

BEN: When we were in high school, did we sit around on our beanbag chairs thinking about the Vietnam War? Plotting how we would take bayonets to Richard Nixon? No. We did our chemistry homework.

JAY: You did, I didn’t.

BEN: We read the books Mrs. Hunsell assigned. Point Counter Point, remember?

JAY: God, that was awful. Deadly stuff.

BEN: We listened to all that Zappa. “What will you do when the label comes off—”

JAY: “And the plastic’s all melted, and the chrome is too soft?” I believe we smoked a joint or two.

BEN: I believe we did. But were your parents always talking about the war? Mine weren’t.

JAY: No, mine weren’t, either.

BEN: I just wonder if they had spent every evening upset over that war — and you know, there was plenty to be upset about, there were the atrocities, My Lai, there was Operation Ranch Hand. Would it really have been better for us to have been raised in a state of constant misery over that war?

JAY: No, you’re right, I had a good childhood. I made a few mistakes, everyone does. Totally fucked myself up later on. My poor mother. Remind me what Operation Ranch Hand was?

BEN: Oh, the defoliation. Agent Orange.

JAY: Right. More Bella?

BEN: I probably should switch over to coffee. But yeah, hell, give me a little more. You know, you’re mellower now, I think. Or am I imagining things? You don’t have that squinty look. Where’s the gun?

JAY: Mmm? Oh, it’s available. And I know a way in through the fence. One of the corners.

BEN: You won’t get fifteen yards, man. You might as well give me the gun and let me shoot you right now. Save yourself a walk.

JAY: I think I’ve got a fifty-fifty chance.

BEN: What can I say that’ll make you stop? Whistle the theme to the Andy Griffith Show?

JAY: Not now, please.

BEN: What if I threw this glass at your head? Would that be a good idea?

JAY: No.

BEN: Then, when you ducked, I’d knock you down with the chair, maybe.

JAY: Don’t do anything like that. I’m jumpy enough as it is.

BEN: Here’s an idea. Just a suggestion, okay?

JAY: Okay.

BEN: And, you know, you can take this for what it’s worth because it’s not like my life is some shining example of how to live a life.

JAY: I know that.

BEN: But my suggestion is, get yourself a camera.

JAY: That’s your suggestion? Get myself a camera. Sure thing. Take some pictures of our nation’s capital, great. Heh heh heh.

BEN: No, I mean it, it’s been an enormous help to me.

JAY: It’s just that there’s no time now. The marination — it’s complete. This is the day.

BEN: I know what I’ll do, I’ll give you my — well, I’ll loan you my camera. How about that?

JAY: Thanks, but I don’t need to take pictures.

BEN: You don’t have to take any pictures. Honestly, you’ll enjoy just loading the film. The rolls of film are exactly the same shape as they were back when George Eastman’s engineer first designed them a hundred years ago. Back then they were called cartridges — they looked like shotgun cartridges. Now it’s called one-twenty film.

JAY: Is it expensive?

BEN: Yeah, it’s pretty expensive, but it’s worth it — the grain is so fine now. So when you can’t stop thinking about the war, about how evil George W. is, how corrupt Cheney is, all that — all of which is true — but when it’s paralyzing you, and you’re not doing anything but thinking about the horror and the gangrene, load some film and go outside. Is there a park near where you’re living?

JAY: There’s a little green spot, yeah.

BEN: Fine, so go there. You might see, oh, I don’t know, a nuthatch on a fence. You think, take the picture? No, no. There’s somebody’s cat, sniffing at a blade of grass. Take the picture? No, no. You move on. A twisted piece of wire on the ground. Yes? No, no. You see what’s happening?

JAY: I’m not sure I do.

BEN: What’s happening is that the weight of the camera in your hand — and remember, it’s a heavy camera — the holding of it is changing the way you look at everything. You look up at the buildings, the stonework up there — ah, and then you see the trees. You put your eye to the viewfinder, and you’re in the lens.

JAY: You’re in the lens?

BEN: Exactly, you’re in the lens. And then you focus. That’s the great moment, when you turn the barrel of the lens and all the little wisps of fog sharpen a little, sharpen some more, and become parts of a tree. All these branches branching off.

JAY: The trees really get to you, eh?

BEN: Especially the old twisted ones. The last couple of months I must have shot, oh, maybe a dozen different trees. It’s best to get to them before their leaves are out, so that you can see the whole structure.

JAY: I guess I’m out of luck, then.

BEN: No, no, leaves can be good, too. Leaves are good. Oh, but there was this one enormous catalpa tree a couple of miles from our house. It was kind of a wet, misty day, and I walked up to it, and I went “Whoa,” and I brought it into focus and the whole thing just came alive for me in the viewfinder. It was an incredible explosion of black twigs reaching in every direction. I was down to maybe a thirtieth of a second, and I squeezed the trigger—

JAY: The trigger?

BEN: I mean the shutter, the little button.

JAY: You’re as messed up as I am.

BEN: Anyway, I squeezed it, and the camera kind of shuddered. See, there’s a heavy mirror in there that has to flip out of the way, so it kicks a little when you take the picture. But very fast. Cloonk.

JAY: Heavy but fast.

BEN: Yep, and I knew I had that catalpa in the bag. I knew its secrets. Yet there it was still out on the street for everyone else to enjoy. So who cares then about George W.? He’s irrelevant. He’s irrelevant. You see?

JAY: It’s kind of funny — I hate to say it, but you know what all this makes me think of?

BEN: What?

JAY: The Sixth Floor Museum.

BEN: What’s that?

JAY: You don’t—? Oh, that’s the museum at the Texas School Book Depository, in Dallas.

BEN: You went there?

JAY: I did indeed. They have a row of cameras under glass there — all the cameras that people were using on the day of the assassination. The old home movie cameras, and a kind of Polaroid camera that took a picture of a blob that supposedly was a person in a bush on the Grassy Knoll, but it’s really a blob. In fact, it isn’t even a blob anymore, because the Polaroid has faded, so all they’ve got is this enhancement. But the row of cameras is great, it’s like a memorial. And you look at them for a little bit, and you nod, and then you walk over to the corner of the floor — the sixth floor — and you stand in the place where supposedly the guy aimed his rifle and shot the president.