His high school class, of which he was president, had voted him most likely to succeed, and he had done so.At the time of the party, not much more than a decade out of law school and still in his thirties, he was already district attorney of his home county. A couple drinks and then a few and then who knows how many until he was well and truly lit, until he was finally a staggering mess, until he was finally so far gone that the prospect of walking home, never mind driving, was an Everest summit attempt.They drive the plot, and Hansen never knows exactly where that plot is going to take him.Before the unexpected series of events that began yesterday afternoon, for example, Hansen had no intention of ever being here, outside this house, waiting for a SWAT team on an overcast Sunday afternoon.There were people from a group called Perverted Justice. There was security: a former NYPD lieutenant and an off-duty police detective from a nearby city.And these were only the people actually within the house.
They delivered him to his home, legs and arms flopping out to the sides like the limbs of an upended turtle.
Imagine how an episode of flagrant public drunkenness in the life of such a man might sear itself into the memories of those who witnessed it.
Twenty years later and they still laugh at the thought of him being barrowed home with a brain full of booze.
A cop guards the open gateway that leads from the house's driveway to the side yard, in case the man inside attempts to flee.
At first the camera is static and the shot is simple: the cop, the gateway, vertical red fence planks, a right foreground portion of green bush.After a few minutes of this, the cameraman starts playing with the composition.