Free Awake Asleep Dreaming Dead by John Siwicki

disgust like he’d just eaten something bitter. Are you kidding me? That’s no good. I need a real camera, with real film.
    I’ve got some of my gear in the car because I’m on my way to a job. All of my cameras take nice pictures. One of them should do the trick.
    Are they all new fangled digital machines?
    I brought a film camera along, Sam said. I’ve got an old camera I’ve had for a long time. Have color or black and white film. You can choose the flavor you like, then laughed expecting Tom to crack a smile, but he stood stone-faced.
    Black and white will do nicely, he said, nodding, then walked over and stood by the tree again. He pointed to himself, and gestured at the tree. Can you take my picture standing here? Do your best Ansel Adams type shot.
    Next to the tree? Sam questioned. Why is being next to the tree so important? And, you know Ansel Adams was known for landscape photography more than taking pictures of people.
    I want a picture of me standing next to this tree, he said slowly, then fired off in rapid succession, I know he was a landscape photographer, and you said you do portraits. Mix them together, me, the tree, hills, valley, then he pointed at the ground, and then at the tree. Right here, this spot, right next to the tree.
    Sure, wait right here. This guy’s goofy. I’m keeping an eye on him. I’ll get the camera, and be right back. Sam started walking down the hill. I should just go. I should leave now.
    You got anything to drink in that car of yours? Tom yelled.
    Sam stopped, and turned. Drink? he asked. Now I have to take care of this old fart. He wants to be wined and dined.
    Yeah, Tom growled. Booze—man—booze. Got any?
    I’ve got a bottle of whisky in the car, and a cooler with some beer in the trunk.
    That makes you my best friend, Sam. Go, go, go, he ordered, and pointed down the hill.
    Get the camera and booze. I’ll wait here.
    Okay, I’ll be right back, Sam said, and made his way down the hill, grumbling. He walked to his car, thinking, Who does this clown think he is ordering me around? I should just drive away. Sam took out his camera, grabbed the whisky and cooler. I’m taking some pictures, then leaving tree-man the first chance I get.
    Sam worked his way back up the hill, and arrived at the top breathing deep, fast, and hard. Tom was relaxing comfortably, sitting down leaning against the big oak tree. His beard blowing in the breeze, looking like the Lord of the land, arms crossed observing the valley below.
    Okay, I’ve got the camera, Sam said still out of breath.
    What’s wrong with you? Tom asked.
    With me? Nothing. Why?
    You’re breathing like a freight train?
    I’ve just climbed up this hill twice, that’s why!
    Just seems for a young guy you’re breathing pretty hard. Maybe you should exercise more, or have a doctor check you out. Doesn’t seem right, young guy like you.
    I’m fine, Sam said. What is wrong with this old goof?
    Just asking, Tom said. Don’t want you keeling over on me; got enough problems.
    Here, Sam said, and handed Tom the whisky bottle.
    Now you’re talking, Tom said. He grinned as he eyed the label. This is the good stuff. I believe I’ll have a swig before you snap my picture. I need to relax. Today’s been a trial.
    Okay, whatever you say. You’re the boss, Sam said. He picked up a beer, and sat on the ground. The view’s nice from up here. I took some great shots of the sunrise this morning. He popped the beer open, and gulped down half of it. He loaded the film in the camera as he watched Tom take swig after swig of whiskey; pouring it down like water. Man, he’s got a hollow leg. He can really put away the booze. I wonder what happened to him after he sold the barber shop. Why is he here?
    Yeah, baby. That’s the good stuff, he howled, then took another gulp, and closed his eyes, grinning like he’d just seen a treasure chest of gold coins.
    It’s the same look I had when I first saw Esther coming down the slippery slide