Without replying Jim goes into the McDonald’s, puts up a poster over the menu. On the one hand he feels a little put upon, it’s a bit unfair to attack him while he’s right here risking jail to put up these stupid posters, isn’t it? At the same time, there’s a part of him that feels Arthur is probably right. It’s true, isn’t it? Jim has despised the ruling forces in America for as long as he has been aware of them; but he’s never done anything about it, except complain. His efforts have all gone to creating an aesthetic life, one concentrating on the past. King of the culturevultures. Yes, Arthur has a certain point.

When they rendezvous outside Jack-in-the-Box, where Arthur has been at work, Jim says, “So why do you do all this, Arthur?”

“Well just look at it!” Arthur bursts out. “Look at these sleepwalkers, zombieing around in some kind of L-5 toybox.… I mean, this is our country! This is it, from sea to shining sea, some kind of brain mortuary! While the rest of the world is a real mortuary. The world is falling apart and we devote ourselves to making weapons so we can take more of it over!”

“I know.”

“That’s right, you know! So why do you ask?”

“Well, I guess I meant, do you really think this kind of thing”—swinging his poster bag—“will make any difference?”

Arthur shrugs, grimaces. “How do I know? I feel like I have to do something. Maybe it just helps me. But you have to do something. I mean, what the hell do you do? You type a word-cruncher for a real estate office, you teach technoprose to technocrats. Isn’t that right?”

Almost against his will, Jim nods. It’s true.

“You don’t give a shit about your jobs. So you drift along being ace culturevulture and wondering what it’s all about.” The grimace intensifies. “Don’t you believe in anything?”

“Yeah!” Feeble show of defiance. Actually, he’s always thought he should be more political. It would be more consistent with his hatred for the wars being waged, for the weapons being made (his father’s work, yes!)—for the way things are.