But we can agree that it is something much different from hate. I would like for you to feel the love the way I feel it. I will settle for your approximation, your knowledge, at least, that love is not hate. The camera zooms out into the foggy water, zooming in on two fishermen in a skiff, one of whom is smoking a pipe gently. Cut to Chicago, Publishers Row, a busy street with taxicabs.
Pedestrians glare at the camera as they sidestep it.
A car hurls by blasting salsa music. Scott Rettberg, wearing a suit and tie, steps in front of the camera. But the toughest task is the belly-laugh or the eyes brimming with tears. The point at which the code becomes transparent is the apex of the literary experience. He pauses to wipe away a tear .