Apparently, there was more than one roll of film shot at the hooker motel that day, and thank the Jesus for it: the black-and-white shots don’t reveal the depths of the Bush League that marquee sinks to.
“Boss, we’re out of red W’s.”
“Just use the blue one and stop bothering me.”
Phil, is that a falconer’s glove?
Where’s the bird?
“Otis got to it.”
College shirts: 1
College degrees: 0
(There aren’t even six high school graduates in this shot. Phil, Brent, and Garcia got their diplomas from various Bay Area highs, but I think Bobby and the drummers are without credentials.)
“Ma’am, can you identify the man who stuck his finger up your butt in Radio Shack?”
“You don’t forget something like that.”
The marquee. Christ, the shoddiness.