Jason stands in the bedroom in his undies, very wriggly. "Goddamnit, I hate video cameras." Especially when they catch you strangling the town whore while you come. "You know how much you could make if you had your own website? Queens all over this world would pay good money just to watch you jack off..." Jason balks, protesting that all he was supposed to do was dance. "Okay. Dance." Lafayette turns on some hilariously on point Jonny McGovern, and Jason snaps his fingers awkwardly. "Is anybody gonna see this who knows me?" Lafayette sways his hips to the music and levels: "Probably. There's a lot of pervs in this town." Heh. Hey, just say your name's Duke. It's the daylight way. "No way. That's not cool, man," he says, grabbing his jeans for the second time today. "Look. You want the V or not?"
"...Gimme the fucking mask," Jason says. And just like that, his face is erased again, replaced by ... Laura Bush. Wow. "That's my Jason," Lafayette says: just two men, one faceless, a camera and a mask. And then somebody else: Tara, staring through the beads with her eyes grown wide: "What... The... Fuck..." Jason starts dancing, awkward at first, but soon enough the mask takes hold, and he can be whoever he wants. "I like what you're working with," Lafayette says, and Jason goes for it. It's ... awesome, let's say. "Ooh, shake that ass! Lover, you gonna make me clutch my pearls!" Oh, Lafayette. Jason giggles inside the mask, and smacks his ass.
Everybody is, you know, somebody. We're all just trying to be seen. To matter. But when the truth is something you don't want anybody seeing, you're in a pickle. Because everybody is also trying not to be seen -- to matter, without risk. You've got the camera, but you also need the mask. Everybody's body is their ticket, when we're food; whether it's for vamps or for the hungry eyes on the other side of the camera, just remember that you're food now. And everybody's shopping. Beyond the beaded veil, Tara makes a face that cannot easily be put into words, but goes something like: "Well. Well well well."
Sookie loiters on Bill's porch, staring in the window and then panning around the room, all the way around to where the camera started; that cello starts as she remembers her dream. He's still sleeping; it's the daytime. She steps back and puts her purse down, sits on the porch, looks up at the sun. Things get all trippy and wild in the field, v-juice still coursing through her veins and then she's, um, going to masturbate suddenly. Sookie! That's just not polite! That's a private activity!