we're in a room in a police station and two men are present. one, a cop, is nervous as hell and constantly aware of the door. the other, bachinski, is taking hurried notes in a reporter's type notebook as he examines the evidence.
woodward and bernstein standing there. the nod. one of them maybe says "yessir," the other maybe "please." the librarian moves out of his office into a corridor. they go with him. no one else is around. the librarian looks at them, quickly--
bernstein, approaching the secretary again. she is working on her right hand now.
that it isn't exactly a gigantic headline piece. as a matter of fact, as more and more of page one appears, we see that their story is tucked away at the bottom and as bigger and bigger headlines are visible--
--the whole first page. plastered across the top in giant letters is the following: "eagleton resigns." and as you look at the whole page now, you can barely make out the tiny piddling watergate story. the point is abundantly clear: nobody cared a whole lot.
bernstein and woodward in a crummy cafeteria, watching the evening news on the tv set high on the wall. woodward eats a hamburger, bernstein smokes, sips coffee. it is night, as usual now.
woodward and bernstein sitting on a park bench swilling down a six-pack.
a drugstore-type place. woodward and bernstein are at the adjoining table.
deep throat and woodward in the underground garage.