"A pile of junk," Myx said.
"Aren't you being a little hasty?" I said. Hasty wasn't one of the things Myx was, but I thought this was the appropriate knee-jerk response at this point.
"How do you know something isn't gonna crawl outta this heap?"
"I don't ... I mean ... that's highly unlikely," I said. Good recovery, eh?
"Now why would you think this makes a good photo, Dave?"
"Picture this." Why not flow with the moment and let my imagination take off? I felt positively effusive out in the fresh air--fresh where I was, upwind of the smelly conglomeration Myx sat near. "You take all these objects out of the woods here and put them under some spotlight in a swanky New York gallery--and then what do you have?"
"An installation--a piece of art?"
Myx loved to play along when he wanted to prove how smart he was.
"Exactly--a creative masterpiece with hidden meanings!"
"But, out here ...." Myx invited.
"A pile of junk. Hold still." That's when I took this picture.
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