A moment. A few seconds. How long a respite can I muster? How long might I possibly maneuver ever so expertly in such a way as to render me unavailable to the incessant pestering of t h e m—the dawning dead, almighty customers—such wretched power they sustain, can you see the strings holding up the corners of my mouth? Super suggests I tighten the line so that a bit of teeth might peek through the mask. I only ask divinity enlighten—what have I done? What horrid sequence of events have condemned me to this here present moment? And you...have I sold you yet? Oh but you must! You must indulge, you see, if a person is what they do then it is the humane thing—go on—validate my existence; for I sell, therefore I am.