Ritual you’ve seen before.  One of the coarsest threads in this curious American tapestry.  Once upon a time practiced on occasion, by accident, via cattle-drivers scratching their names in the American dirt.  Codified and enshrined by the motion picture camera for a generation.  Two men.  A couple guns between them.  An itch in their fingers.  Dust in the air.  And American’s most sunburnt backdrop behind them.  Now updated for the suburban era.  A janitor in one corner.  A white plastic sack in the other.  A junior high school the new American vista.  And a swinging lightbulb keeping time.