—All right, look. Look all I meant was Oscar takes off and writes a longwinded play about his grandfather he wasn’t hired to do it, about somebody seeking justice nobody paid him to did they? And it gets him nowhere, does he keep at it? write another play? and another? No, no he splurges this one time and then lets it devour him year after year like this little birch canoe he made because it’s safer to blame the world out there for rejecting who he thought he was, for all the work he’s put in on a play that’s not really about justice in the first place, not about injustice it’s about resentment, it’s resentment right from the start like his little canoe sunk in the mud and it poisons everything, blaming those faceless ogres out there instead of looking inside at the ogres we don’t want to see, don’t dare see our own hand in it, who we really are, and if he wins? pausing again to reach for the bottle, —if who he thinks he is wins on this appeal? What you see in the headlines out of Washington every day isn’t it? caught redhanded destroying evidence, obstructing justice, committing perjury off on frolics of their own and when they get off on some technicality, everybody knows they’re guilty but there’s not enough there to prove it so they can proclaim they’ve been proved innocent, wrap themselves in the flag and they’re heroes because now they believe it themselves, because the law has vindicated who they think they are like saying where would Christianity be today if Jesus had been given ten to twenty with time off for good behaviour, and if he wins? If Oscar wins and this whole cockeyed version of who he thinks he is is vindicated because that’s what the law allows?