He's here.
Wonderful. I've been counting the minutes, Marilyn.
Who's here? Morning, Joel.
Holling. Hey, you look terrible.
Have a seat. Let's take a peek under the hood.
What's this?
- Ooh, I.R.S. - Read it.
"It has come to our attention our investigators have determined...
- ...you owe the government $9,000." - Keep goin'.
Holling, it says here you haven't paid your taxes since 1959.
- Correct. - 1959?
Statehood. I voted against it.
And what? You've been withholding taxes as a form of political protest?
Well, not exactly. I figured they'd let me know if they really needed it.
You never filed a tax return?
No.
I mean, I've been delinquent once or twice myself,
but, um, I don't think you can get a 32-year extension.
Well, I figured something more like a note.
- A note? - From you.
- You mean like a medical excuse? - There you go.
You want me to write to the Internal Revenue Service,
saying you can't pay your taxes because you aren't feeling well?
Well, don't get me wrong. I mean, I fully intend to pay it, but not right now.
It'll take me a little while to get up that kind of cash.
What do you say?
Good morning, Cicely. It's 7:02.
A soggy 34 degrees outside.
It's time to reach into the K-Bear mailbag.
Dave from Mosquito Lake writes: "Dear Chris in the Morning,
I loved your series on Islam. How about a transcript?"
Well, sorry, Dave. There isn't one. I work without a net, you know.
I'm glad you liked the series.
On a personal note, my brother Bernard drops a note from the Dark Continent:
"Dear Chris, Africa is all I dreamed it would be.
I trekked up the Usambara Range"- that's in Tanzania, folks-
"where I watched the sunrise and felt the blood of my ancestors pulse through my veins.
Best to all. Kwaheri, Bernard. "
Well, that's something, huh? Bernard's out there in the motherland,
hugging the curves down life's highways, and yours truly creeps along here...
at his petty pace, day to day,
full of sound and fury,
lots of unnecessary commercial messages.
Truth is, folks, I've been dragging my psychic feet lately,
and it's probably nothing more than your usual biorhythmic peaks and valleys,
but there's no getting around the fact that we all need a pump, you know?
Something to make us jump up out of bed in the morning...
and greet the dawn with a big old cosmic "Howdy. "
- Morning, Dr. Fleischman. - Hey, wait, wait. Hold it right there.
- What is that? - This is eggs Florentine,
and this is a seven-grain waffle with gooseberry syrup.
- Hey, Dr. Fleischman. - Don't talk with your mouth full, Ed.
That appears to be cheese blintzes with blueberry sauce?
- He's back? - Mm-hmm.
No, no, no. You can't drown it!
It's gotta float. It's gotta- It's gotta breathe.
Look, you're not ready for crepes, Dave. Just go boil some water or something.
Hey, Adam. - Please. Okay. That's it. I'm outta here.
- Wait. Wait. What did I say? - What did you say?
- Yeah. I came in to- - To what?
To idly interrupt? To annoy beyond reason?
- No. I thought that may- - What?
I- I suppose you let uninvited guests barge into your operating room all the time, huh?
Mushrooms. I love shiitakes.
Those are chanterelles, you moron. Hey!
- Do you want to die? - Okay. Okay.
So what brings you back to Cicely?
You're right. Let's try an easier one. Um, how's Eve?
- She's sick. - Oh, what a surprise.
Hey, just watch it, okay? - She doesn't want to see me, does she?
Why? Do you have a problem with that, Doctor?
Dave. Dave.
Presentation.
Hopeless.
No. Eve's sciatic nerve was acting up again.
Then before you could say "Boo," she comes down with a case of thyroiditis.
She try a vitamin "B" supplement?
What a brilliant idea. Yeah, of course we did.
With amazing results. Nothing happened.
So now she's at Dr. Chang's clinic.
Dr. Chang? Dr. M. Chang?
Well, I'm glad to see you keep up with the literature, Fleischman.
I mean, he's only the seminal force in the field of acupuncture.
And spare me the A.M.A. Party line, okay? I know all about it.
If it isn't in the New England Journal of Medicine,
it never happened for you guys, right?
I was just gonna ask where he practices.
- Hunan, if you must know. - Hunan as in China?
- No, Hunan as in North Dakota. - So Eve is in China?
What, am I talking to myself? Yes, Eve is in China.
I wish I was there with her. I could be translating cookbooks...
instead of being interrogated by some gastronomic pygmy.
- You read Chinese? - Cantonese like a native.
- Mandarin still gives me a fit. - Come on.
- What does that mean? - Loosely translated, it means,
um, "Quick and painless or slow and lingering?"
Hey! You! Hold it! What the hell do you think you're doing?
Me? Yeah. What have you got in your hand there?
Newspaper. That's not just a newspaper.
That's my newspaper. The Cicely News & World Telegram.
I'm sorry.
Where I come from, people respect their local newspapers.
They read 'em. They clip stories. They discuss 'em.
They do not use 'em to clean up after their pets. Do I make myself clear?
- Yeah, but- - You want clean sidewalks?
Here.
Dr. Fleischman gonna write you that note, hon?
Says it's creaky. I suppose he's right.
Don't worry. We'll come up with the money.
How?
I don't know. I was just sayin' it to be nice.
Just hate seeing you drag that cute nose on the floor, babe.
Anyway, what's the worst thing that can happen?
Well, they could seize the bar, sell the property, put me in jail.
- Huh. - Oh, really?
All right, listen up. All of you. Hey!
Yeah, you.
Something's been festering under the skin of this town like an angry boil,
and I think it's time we gave it a scratch.
- How about a clue, Maurice? - Case in point.
Ruth-Anne, what is that you're reading, dear?
The Christian Science Monitor.
Uh-huh. Well, you know we have a paper in this town.
But rather than support our local news organ,
some people would prefer to use it as a sponge to mop up spilled decaf.
We've got a problem here, people.
The problem, Maurice, is that your paper is a major snooze.
You think the New York Times is a joyride?
You think people read the New York Times because they like to?
No, no. People read the New York Times because they feel like they ought to.
- Isn't that right, Fleischman? - Oh, phooey.
There's nothing to write about around here, and you know it.
Oh, you think things are too uneventful here in the borough of Arrowhead County, huh?
Well, yes, I do.
Well, let me tell you about a little item in the New York Times today.
It's about the Village Sentinel in Duxbury, Vermont,
a thriving metropolis of 900 souls.
They have been nominated for a Pulitzer prize. Why?
Ticks.
My paper has ticks. My paper has bugs of all kinds.
Show of hands. How many of you read the article...
on mosquito abatement program in Loon Lake?
See? That's just my point.
A great newspaper needs a great reading public.
We've all got to pull our own weight here, people.
End of story.
Hey there, Chris. Hey, Holling. Come on in.
Another postcard from Bernard?
Yeah. He's in Sierra Leone now. Northwest coast, below Guinea.
- That's an adventure. - Got a rash. Nothing serious.
Uh, maybe this is not a good time.
No, no, no. I'm sorry, Holling. What's up, buddy?
Well, not too much. I owe Uncle Sam, uh, $9,000.
Ooh. Back taxes?
I have never asked anyone for cash before, Chris,
but, uh, those government boys can be rough.
- How much you need? - Well, it's no secret.
With your inheritance, you're the only fella around who's liquid, other than Maurice.
Now, there was a time when I could've asked him-
No, no, no. Full amount, five percent interest, Holling.
No. Hold on a minute. I'm not talking about a loan.
- You're not? - No. I don't believe in debt.
What a man can't pay for, he can't own.
No, this is a business investment.
One-half interest in The Brick for $9,000.
Me? Own half of your bar?
Well, it's a good offer. I had the barstools upholstered last year only and-
Whoa, Holling. You and me, partners in The Brick?
- Is that what you're saying? - Well, yeah.
Oh, man. Holling, this was meant to be. This was meant to happen.
Holling, ever since I inherited that money,
my karma has been all dressed up with nowhere to go, man.
I love bars. You know that. Holling, I dream about bars.
Best talk I ever had with my dad- in a bar, man. I patched him up after a fight.
Holling, I know the layout of every bar I ever been in.
I know the bartender's name. I know what they charge me for a drink.
I was made for this, Holling. I was made to own a bar.
I- I take it you're interested.
Yeah.
And we're comin' on down.
All right, who's next, huh? Joel?
- No, none for me, Chris. - Come on now. Maggie? Ruth-Anne?
- On the house. - Why not?
- Hey, that okay with you, huh? - It's your bar, partner.
Hey, this is interesting. We're 14% ahead of last year's precipitation count.
Whoo, doggy!
Uh, here's a little something I'm trying with, uh, polenta.
- Fabulous. - Fabulous.
Delicious. What is this? This is, um, cilantro?
Why? You want to try this at home?
I devote my life to creating culinary masterpieces.
You think I'd reduce that to a shopping list?
I- I just-
I suppose every passenger thinks they can fly your plane, huh?
"What's that, hot lips, a little left rudder? Slide over. "
But any jerk with a hot plate can cook, right?
A little cilantro, you're a chef.
What's this, Ed?
Well, I thought about what you said, Maurice.
- About initiative. And this is my new column. - "Ed Goes to the Movies"?
Yeah. Four bear claws means instant classic,
and one bear claw means stay home and read.
I think it's time people knew the truth.
Shelly! Oh, Shelly!
- Mmm. What are these? - I don't know what you call 'em,
but I've been scarfing 'em down like beer nuts.
- Oh, my God! - God, Adam, this is amazing!
Mmm. What are these? These, um-
- Diego's maize azul supreme. - Diego?
A friend. Had a way with blue corn flour.
Yeah, he would've been one of the greats if only...
If only what?
Ah, if only he hadn't been blown to bits along with his Deux Chevaux outside of Lima.
Faulty detonator. Yeah.
Give that guy a few charcoal briquettes, some hickory chips and a goat,
he'd work miracles.
Ah, too bad. Nice kid. Should've been me.
- Wow. - Lima, Peru?
Well, the outskirts of the city, actually.
- What were you doing in Peru? - You think I'm gonna tell you, lady?
Hey, folks, come on. I mean, his food is great.
It's better than great. But this is Adam we're talking about.
The man is a walking pathology. He cannot tell the time without lying.
I mean, one can only guess at the unique circumstances...
that rendered him incapable of distinguishing Rocky and Bullwinkle from the evening news.
Don't you think you're being a little harsh, Joel?
Oh, no, no. Please, please continue.
I'm sure everyone here is fascinated to hear more pop psychology...
from number 54 in his class at Columbia Med.
- Fifty-fourth? - Well, out of 140.
It happened to be a very tough school, O'Connell. How did you know that?
- What are you starin' at? - Good rumaki.
How did he know that?
Whoo! What a night! What an unbelievable night! Whoo!
Yes, I don't ever recall having given away quite that much free beer.
Oh, man, this is fantastic. I feel like Bogie in Casablanca.
This free food and drink, Chris- This is strictly a one-shot deal, right?
Oh, right, right. Absolutely.
You know, I got a few ideas, though, I want to fly by you, Holling.
- Ideas? - Yeah, just some little things.
You know, changes. The place has been getting kinda stale lately.
- It has? - Yeah, but we can talk about that later.
- How about breakfast tomorrow morning? - Whatever you say.
- Partner. - Partner.
- Good night, Dave. - Good night.
Hey, Adam. I think we should have a talk.
I loathe talks. If you wanna talk, call Oprah.
I could use a man of your ability. Get lost.
You haven't heard me out.
Twenty seconds, then I'm outta here.
You've got a gift. I've got a paper. I'm willing to pay.
- Not interested. - Oh, come on, son.
- Everybody's interested in money. - Fifteen seconds.
All right. I need a special correspondent to, uh, stir things up.
I'll give you front page, your own byline, the works.
My own byline?
I'll throw in your picture too. We'll have to do something about that hair.
- Are you insane? - What?
You want people to know where I am?
Why don't you just paint crosshairs on my back?
Then forget the byline.
Why should I write for your pissant paper, Minnifield?
I'm giving you carte blanche here, Adam.
You've got the opportunity to write anything you want.
- Within reason. - Time's up.
Plausibility! That's a better word for it.
Look, blow the lid off this borough.
Be my Deep Throat.
- Deep Throat? - Yeah, whatever.
That guy always did piss me off.
All right, I'm in. But get out your checkbook, Minnifield.
- This is gonna cost. - I'm listening.
- I'm gonna need cashews. - That's no problem.
- And a dozen pencils. - Number twos?
Eberhard Faber. Blackwings.
Yes, who would have thought our sleepy little hamlet...
borders the most unusual botanical find of the century?
"But don't take my word for it.
"Pick up your own copy of the Cicely News & World Telegram today...
"and read about bizarre but true discoveries in a forest primeval that time forgot.
"It's all in the Cicely News & World Telegram,
the pride and pulse of the borough of Arrowhead County. "
And to swap stories about our loquacious lodgepoles,
why not stop in at Cicely's favorite watering hole,
The Brick, home of the new ptarmigan pizza.
You know, you can enjoy your state bird with mozzarella,
fresh basil and tomato, all on a corn flour crust.
Don't forget tonight's T.S. Eliot night at The Brick.
Your truly, Chris Stevens, is gonna be manning the pumps.
Free nickel beers for the first 50 customers...
who can recite the opening lines of "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock."
- No crib sheets now. - Good morning, Ed.
You look a little peaked. You didn't get any sleep?
Been delivering papers all night, huh? Go home and get some chow, stand by.
We got a bulldog edition coming out tomorrow.
Sure thing, Maurice.
Hey, hey, Maurice.
Maurice, this is fantastic.
- You don't say. - No, what I mean is it's ridiculous.
I know you're desperate for readers, but talking trees?
Fleischman, read the story.
They don't speak in complete sentences. They make vowel sounds like...
and can only be detected with scientific instruments.
Well, what's this? I mean, I've heard of unnamed sources, but an unnamed reporter?
Just say it's my contribution to the field.
I've read fairy tales with better documentation.
No one's gonna buy it, Maurice.
Hello?
I'm telling you, Fleischman. I could swear I heard the tree talk.
Oh, not you too, O'Connell. What?
Maurice prints a story on talking trees.
Suddenly everyone in the woods is on a first-name basis.
- I'm not making this up. - No, it's not conscious.
- It's called power of suggestion. - Don't patronize me, Fleischman.
And besides, wh-what's to think that Maurice's story couldn't be true?
What, that certain pine trees around here are having animated conversations?
Sure. In fact, I was just discussing that very point with the tooth fairy.
Fleischman, plants are living organisms, right?
You put electrodes on 'em, they respond to stimuli.
Look, I can put electrodes on a frog leg and make it dance around a table.
It doesn't mean it wants an audition. It's called an electrochemical reaction.
- Well, what about sunflowers, huh? - Sunflowers?
Yeah. Why do they turn towards the sun?
That's what plants do. It's called heliotropism.
- But why do they do it? - Because they need the sunlight.
Aha. Aha, what?
They need, Fleischman, just like we need.
- And they act to satisfy those needs. - I don't believe this.
O'Connell, you are so much more academically impaired than I had imagined.
Oh, really? Well, who tells a plant that it needs the sun?
- How does it bend towards the light? - Who cares?
Plant cells communicate, Fleischman. They do. They communicate.
You know, if you knew anything about horticulture,
if you had empathy for any living thing at all,
you would know that every plant is a minor miracle of interdependence-
that they're a self-regulating network that-that manufactures and transfers food,
collects and conducts water- does basically everything that we do,
only more efficiently and without screwing up the environment.
- And how, Fleischman? - How?
They talk. They communicate. That's how.
Every successful gardener talks to his plants, Joel.
What's a green thumb, after all, except an ability...
to communicate positively with our friends in the plant kingdom?
- What's your point, O'Connell? - My point, Fleischman,
is that there is more between heaven and earth than your philosophy ever dreamed of.
It's true that plants are actually out there talking all the time.
We're just not smart enough or sensitive enough or whatever enough to understand them.
Hey, how about some ptarmigan pizza on the house?
You are delirious.
Well, it's a scientific fact that women's ears are more sensitive.
You're just jealous that I can hear it and you can't.
My ears are every bit as good as your ears. I have great ears.
If there was a tree out there talking, believe me, I would hear it.
Richard, how are you guys doing? Everything all right?
Fine.
Excuse me. Mike, do me a favor. Use a coaster. Okay, buddy? Thanks.
Eddie?
What, man? You write on the walls at home?
Yeah.
Well, this isn't your home, all right? A little consideration.
Joint's jumping, huh, partner?
- Yep. - Good eats, Adam.
What would you know?
Dave.
Grill, Dave. Not cremate.
Grill.
Adam.
What do you want?
We need to talk.
Do we really have to hide in the freezer?
No! And I don't have to talk to you either, Minnifield.
- We sold out four editions today. - Yeah. So? Now what do you want?
More. I'm gettin' calls from Homer, from Sitka, from Sleetmute.
You want more? Right now? Tonight?
Yeah. Do you realize the risk that I'm taking?
Not to mention the stress that I feel as my loved one lies half a world away...
being subjected to the pins and needles of some Oriental lunatic.
- We'll fly Eve here. - Yeah, right.
If only it were that simple.
Beat it! We're busy here.
Okay.
Take this down.
You're gonna put my voice on tape?
I'll destroy the tape as soon as I'm done with it. I'll burn it.
If you don't, I'll have to kill you.
Hold it. Hold it. Batteries are freezing up.
Okay. Good. Go.
Dateline: Cicely.
As teams of government scientists scour the tundra,
a deepening cover-up is spreading its dark cloud...
over the borough of Arrowhead County.
You with me so far?
Ed. Oh, hi, Maurice.
Come on in. What do you take in your coffee?
Lots of cream and lots of sugar.
- You're a wreck, son. - I didn't get any sleep.
No? Why not? Burnin' it at both ends?
- I was delivering newspapers. - Well, good.
- I rented a truck. - That's good thinking.
- I put it on a credit card. - Well, I'll reimburse you.
Oh, no. You don't have to do that.
I put it on your card. I don't have one.
Ed, that would normally be considered larceny, but under the circumstances-
Oh, excuse me.
Hold on a sec!
This is 10 inches of precision-made Wüsthof steel,
currently poised between your brisket and prime rib.
Floor's yours, Adam.
What is this?
- That's our story-your story. - This is not my story.
You butchered my copy! It's unrecognizable.
You talked for 20 minutes, Adam. I had to edit somewhere.
You call this editing? You walked all over my prose in hobnailed boots!
Why don't you put up the pigsticker,
and we'll discuss this over brioche and coffee, like civilized men.
Who is that? That's just Ed.
Don't worry about him. He's out like a light.
Do you think this is a game? Has this place been swept recently?
I have a girl come in every Thursday.
I'm talking about bugs. You don't have a clue, do you?
Microchips. Fiber optics. It's a whole new ball game, Minnifield.
I have seen transmitters disguised as nasal hairs!
- Really? - They have listening devices now...
that can pick up a caterpillar sneezing two miles away.
They know what you had for breakfast two days ago.
They know what car you're gonna be buying three years from now.
Every square inch of your existence...
is being recorded, analyzed, monitored...
and stored in a facility underground right outside of Omaha.
I think you're carrying this a little far, aren't you?
Oh, really? Maurice Minnifield. Age: 53.
Two-inch birthmark in the shape of Madagascar, upper right trapezius.
Enamel replacement, left lateral incisor.
Average rate of respiration while engaged in sexual intercourse-
- All right, hold it right there! - Satisfied?
- Let's just say I'm impressed. - One phone call. One.
My God.
Botany is the next battlefield.
What's going on out there is just the beginning.
What are you talking about?
Picture this.
Secure safe house.
Clandestine operatives meet.
Later on, the opposition breaks into the room,
debriefs the potted palm.
Three days later, a plane goes down outside of Düsseldorf.
- Oh, come on! - It happened!
It's not a pretty picture. Never mind the ethical implications.
I mean, acorns removed from their parents.
Pleasure-pain experiments performed on rhododendrons.
Let's get this down on floppy disk, shall we?
What about the brioche?
All I'm saying is Leon's Roadhouse in Sweetwater...
charges $3.50 for a bowl of chili half this size, and theirs comes in a can.
- I don't know. - Oh, come on.
Nobody's gonna squawk if we bump the price to a buck, 75.
What do you say?
- Cool! Let's do it. - All right. Yes.
Order up.
- Hmm. - Hmm, what?
Hmm, just hmm.
You don't like the head? No, no. I do.
I mean, I did. I don't know.
- We'll move it. - No, no. It's fine.
- We'll change it. - No, Holling. It's-It's fine.
- You want to borrow my stethoscope? - I'll give it right back.
Are you experiencing pain, O'Connell, in a geographically sensitive region, perhaps?
Because, despite a relationship that can best be described...
as an allergic reaction, I'm still your doctor.
- So if there's something wrong- - It's not for me, Fleischman.
Well, you're a little old to be playing doctor, aren't you?
Just forget it. Just forget it!
Wait. If I'm gonna lend an expensive piece of diagnostic equipment,
I think I deserve to know the reason.
Well, you'll just laugh.
- No, I won't. - Yes, you will.
No, I won't. I'm a doctor. There isn't much I haven't seen.
I don't know what's going on here, Maurice.
There's more involved here than dollars and cents.
There's the small matter of the public trust.
I just left my office where Maggie O'Connell-
someone whose personality I won't comment on,
but whose grasp of reality I'd rate above average-
is concerned that a log she cut down is suffering from separation anxiety.
Joel, my only obligation is to print the truth.
Oh, right. You're a regular pillar of the First Amendment.
Hey, a joke's a joke, Maurice. Get out while you can.
- This is no joke, Fleischman. - What? You've talked to the trees?
You've seen government agents skulking around in the woods?
- No, I haven't, but my source has. - What source? Come on.
You and I both know you invented this unnamed reporter to boost circulation.
Joel, do you think I have the imagination to invent something like this?
No, I know for a fact that you don't.
No. You didn't.
You did! You made a deal with Adam?
Oh, my God. Calm down, Joel.
You let the genie out of the bottle. The man is a certifiable paranoid psychotic.
Maybe so, but he does spin one heck of a yarn, doesn't he?
You can't believe a word he says. You know that, don't you?
It doesn't matter what I believe. It matters what the public believes.
- Meaning what? - Meaning you give 'em what they want.
That's the role of journalism.
No, Maurice, that's the role of professional wrestling.
No guts, no glory.
Uh, got a little weather advisory for anybody out there conversing with the local flora.
Big ol' storm front due in from the northeast.
Hey, why don't you come in from the cold,
warm yourselves with a big old bowl of homemade chili at The Brick.
Big ol' heaping bowl for a measly buck, 75.
Chili there.
Maybe you got something else to do.
What's happening tonight? Anglo-Saxon night at The Brick.
Our salute to our soggy forebears from the Sceptred Isle.
And, uh, we're featuring the first annual Arrowhead tag team dart championship.
Seemed like a good idea at the time.
I guess we'll give it a try.
Um, hey, how about- how about a tune?
Can't sleep, babe?
I built this bar. Me and Joe Bernardi.
Wonder how many beers I've served here.
A hundred thousand? Millions?
Come back to bed, hon. I'll rub your temples.
I always enjoyed seeing Chris come through the door.
He's a good customer.
Never ran off at the mouth. Paid his tabs.
Eat anything you'd put in front of him.
But lately I just get this urge to punch his lights out.
I think that might be bad for business, Holling.
It's nothing he's done.
Heck, we're makin' more money than we did before.
I'm not a partner man. I just-
Either it's my bar or it isn't.
What do you wanna do?
There's only one thing I can do.
Sell out to Chris.
But it's your bar, Holling.
It was my bar. That crowd tonight-
Those weren't my customers. They were his.
So give Chris his money back.
We'll find another way to pay our taxes.
I can't do that, Shelly. I asked Chris to help out.
No, I'm not gonna stand in the way of progress.
Change comes to all things.
Guess we'll just have to change with it.
Okay.
That's all right with you?
Shelly, it'll turn your life upside down.
Well, yeah. We'll find some other gig.
- Can we go back to bed now? - Yeah.
Rain usually makes me feel mellow.
Curl-up-in-the-corner time. Slow down. Smell the furniture.
Today it just... makes me feel wet.
What is it about possessing things?
Why do we feel the need to own what we love?
And why do we become such jerks when we do?
We've all been there, you know. You want something. You possess it.
And by possessing it, we lose it.
When you finally win the girl of your dreams,
first thing you do, you try to change her.
That little thing she'd do with her hair,
the way she wears her clothes,
the way she chews her gum.
Pretty soon, what you liked,
what you've changed and what you don't like,
it all... blends together...
like a watercolor in the rain.
- Where is he? - I dunno.
You seen him, Fleischman?
Hey, be glad he's gone, Maurice. The only loss is to our appetites.
You know where he lives. You've been there. How do you get there?
Got me. I was blindfolded when I was there.
Um, I do remember trees though.
- Holling- - Chris-
Look, I- Me first.
No, me. Chris.
Look, Holling, I know what you're gonna say. I can save us some time.
All right.
Well, since we've become partners, you know, the bar's changed.
I mean, we both know that. It's become more popular, more - more efficient.
More profitable. More profitable.
It's, uh-
It's what?
I hate it.
Holling, last night I couldn't breathe.
I had to leave a bar for the first time in my life.
It's weird. I love your bar, but when it became my bar,
all I could see were things I wanted to change, you know?
And then last night, I stepped back and I took a look,
and... I got this awful feeling in the pit of my stomach.
You know, like when you fall out of love,
and it's over, but you're still trying to hang on.
I can't enjoy myself in The Brick anymore.
And what it's done to my head, Holling- It's-It's really strange.
I mean, it's got me thinking about profit margin...
and-and return on investment and coasters.
I'm making people use coasters. Where'd that come from?
I really thought owning a bar was gonna be it for me.
I guess there's two kind of people in the world:
Owners and renters.
And I'm a renter, and I gotta get out.
You'll want your money back then.
Well, uh, the way I see it,
I must've blown 1,500 bucks on free drinks that first night.
So we'll take that off the top, and then you just pay me whenever you can.
That's very generous of you.
Hey, Holling, I'd rather have my money helping a friend...
than breeding in some bank somewhere.
Hmm. Want a beer?
You buying?
You bet. Well, all right.
You're not the only foot soldier to go through jungle school.
- You found me. - Of course.
- I knew you would. - Slowly!
- It's all over, Minnifield. - It's not over until I say it's over.
You don't leave the field with the ball on the five-yard line.
- You've gotta go ahead and punch it in. - Do you think this is a game?
Oh, I see. A little leverage at "H" hour, huh?
All right. What do you want?
You want a restaurant? I'll buy you a restaurant.
Why would I possibly want a restaurant? I hate people!
Two more articles, Adam. Two more.
You've got to find an ending to this story.
You, Ben Bradlee, Arthur Sulzberger- You're all alike!
You squeeze and you squeeze,
and when there's nothing left, you squeeze a little bit more, don't you?
- Agh. - Hold it! You're not going anywhere.
Who's gonna stop me?
I think I'd better warn you...
I'm an expert at hand-to-hand.
I would rip out your heart and show it to you before it stopped beating.
Your neck would be snapped like a dry twig...
before your hand reached my chest.
What?
Company. Two men and a woman...
or a very small man.
Maurice, this is unhealthy. It's been a week.
I mean, look at you.
You're not sleeping. You're not eating.
I mean, I admit the cuisine is a major comedown since Adam left,
but you've gotta get on with your life.
Go buy more property. Or go hunting.
Yeah, why don't you go kill something?
I should've played him differently, Joel.
A thoroughbred like Adam is a different breed.
Requires special handling, more room.
Maurice, it was gonna collapse sooner or later. You're obsessing.
I mean, if you date a Vegas showgirl,
you can't be surprised when she runs off with the magician.
Look at the bright side. You're not being sued.
You still have your reputation.
The outside world has forgotten that the Cicely News & World Telegram even exists.
- There's a lot to be thankful for. - What?
Maurice-
What is it, Ed?
Well, I thought about whether I should show you this.
On one hand, there are your feelings to protect.
Well, and on the other hand, you probably would have found out about it anyway.
The two hands fought, and for a while I-
Chemical spill?
"Residual biochemical imbalance.
Uniquely sensitive ecosystem." What- This is a joke, right?
The trees were screaming for help.
Forget about it, Maurice.
Hey, this is- this is a coincidence, a- a one-in-a-million shot.
I mean, statistically, if Adam talks enough, he has to hit on some truth every now and again.
I mean, even a broken clock is accurate twice a day.
I dreamed of hooking the big one.
Oh, I hooked that fish deep.
Then he sounded.
I ran out of line.
Morning, Cicely.
You'll be pleased to know that that corps of army engineers...
is arriving this morning to restore our fragile tundra, bloody but unbowed.
Godspeed, boys, and tell the army...
no more high jinks in our fair woods, understand?
I understand that our trees have quit their howling.
End of a crowd-pleasing phenomenon for us, perhaps,
but resumption of business as usual for them.
Ah, yes, life in the slow lane, as it should be.
You know, if our timber were to speak again,
I got a feeling it would probably say something like, "Hey, people, enough. "
You know, some things we're not meant to tamper with.
Some things... better left alone.
And that's okay, because happiness doesn't come from having things, right?
It comes from being part of things.
My thanks to Shelly and Holling for giving me the space to work that one out.
Okay. I think this is the place.
I'm telling you, O'Connell. This whole thing was dreamed up by some White House flack...
to divert attention from domestic policy debate.
There were never any talking trees. Quiet.
What? You didn't hear that?
Hear what? You're hallucinating.
I mean, if-if you can hallucinate with your ears.
You know what, Fleischman? You just don't want to listen.
I don't even know what I'm supposed to be listening for.
Do they speak English? Esperanto? What?
Sounds, Fleischman. I mean, they speak sounds.
I mean, I just can't explain it. It's-
You're right. I'm an idiot.
No, come on. Wait. Wait.
You know, I have a very meaningful experience in the woods,
and for some stupid reason I choose to share it with you,
and you just can't resist trashing it, can you?
Okay, okay. Don't take it so personally. Look, I'm sorry. All right?
I'm just- I am not a child of nature.
I am a child of asphalt and toxic fumes,
and I have never listened to trees before, all right?
I mean-
- What? What am I supposed to do? - Just listen.
Okay.
You hear anything?
No.
Well, we'll just stay here for a few minutes,
and we'll move on to another place.
Right.