On his last trip to Saigon Travis paid a visit to an old cinematheque left over from the French colonial days. He had a residual affection for the cinema from his two weeks in the industry. It didn't really matter what was playing, he just found the darkened room and luminescent screen restful. The film was French, naturally enough, but without subtitles, so the experience was more abstract than usual. Apparently there was this serious young man who stole wallets for a living, but Travis couldn't understand why. When he walked out into the humid glare and went to put on his sunglasses, Travis noticed that he'd been crying.

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