Trying not to keep up with the Jones'.

I’ve got it bad!

Real bad.

I’m jones’n for one.

I will fight this. I’m head strong! I will survive!

Oh. Good. Gawd. Now I am mixing Trapt with Gloria Gaynor. I need help, seriously.

I was doing so well today too. I didn’t even have the slightest craving for one, until I read an article about some photographer.

Outside the Pacifica house, Hido got out of the car and loaded his film in the darkness, barely looking down -- he's set up his gear in the dark thousands of times, and sometimes in driving rain or snowstorms. He mounted the camera to the tripod and pitched its legs in what seemed like one expert motion. Since Hido has extremely poor eyesight, and wears both contacts and eyeglasses to compensate, he estimated that his camera's lens was twenty meters from the house and focused it accordingly. The single window on the top floor cast a yellowish glow.

Hido looked through his viewfinder for barely a second before pulling out a miniature leveler to make sure his camera was true to the ground. He set the exposure at four minutes and used a handheld digital timer to remind him when time was up.

With everything set, Hido took a step back, lit a Parliament, and took a long look at the house.

The yellow light on the top floor went out.

Hido blew cigarette smoke from his mouth. "That happens," he said, waiting a moment for the next step in the process.

Oh, yeah. I could see that clearly in my head as if it was me out there setting up for that shot.

That’s all it took. Someone painted me a picture and I could taste that cigarette.