"Excuse me," he said, picking up the tripod, "while I play director of photography." He crossed to a wide, steel-mullioned window and quickly set up the tripod. "Could you open the bag, please, and bring the scope?" She did, finding a sort of thickly truncated gray telescope atop smooth thick folds of pale blue plastic. She brought it to him, watched as he mounted it on the tripod, removed the black lens caps, and peered through it, making adjustments. He whistled. "Oh. Dear. Fuck." He whistled. "Pardon me."