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The older man's name is William Loman. The younger man goes, "Really? Like in the play?"

The older man goes, "What play?"

The younger man says, "Arthur Miller?" He turns the playwright's name into a question.

The older man makes a noise that is like half sigh and half snort. Then he mutters the word "writers" while looking at his iPhone.

A moment passes. It feels like a million moments to the younger man. A million moments that all suck.

"How come you don't have your book?"

"I sent you the url. Did you not get my email?"

"I ask you for your book and you send me a url?"

The younger man almost references the current year. He decides to remain quiet. Instead, he nods. His mouth is dry.

The digital clock in the older man's office FINALLY changes from 9:12 am to 9:13 am.

I will be home and out of this suit before 10 am (thinks the younger man).

He is broke. He will remain broke. It is all a very old and prophetic song.

Don't get me wrong, other shit will also happen. Years will fly by and the faces of neighbors will change.

Something will improve slightly with cars. TV will get better. Someone new will come along and promise change every four or eight years.

America will get fatter.

More concisely; however, the planet will turn and spin and eventually the younger man will die. Same goes for the older man and everyone else.

Right?

The
End.