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It must have been around dinner time.

I was sitting there, writing as usual, when there was that knock at my door. Dropped my pen. Walked to the door. Peered through the peephole.

He was a well dressed man. His clothes had been recently pressed, and his hair neatly combed. As if it really mattered to me. As long as he wasn't some card carrying scum or one of them, I was ok.

He was a salesman. Like all the others. He hailed from Turesia, selling the latest in home products. Things to make your life easier. The eternal catchphrase.

He pushed a hard sale. Understandably so. I'd imagine his comission would be about 30%. No one wants to buy in this world, everyone gambling on the status quo. A status quo that couldn't possibly fail society more than it has already.

I wasn't interested in what he was selling. Atleast he had a brain on his shoulders -- something that can't be said of most.

"Do you want to go get a drink?"

"Sounds good to me."

How much of what we hear is real?

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