stumbled out of the 1950s and landed on their porch. The threat of rain hung in the air.
‘Hello,’ the man said in an undetectable European accent. ‘I am a representative from Mr. Sucks and I would love to demonstrate our new and exciting product.’
‘Mr. Sucks?’ Jimmy said, struggling to keep a straight face. In happier times, he wouldn’t have been able to.
‘Yes, sir. Mr Sucks,’ the salesman said. ‘Can I please come in and show you our revolutionary new product that has everyone talking?’
‘We aren’t in the market for a vacuum right now, but thank you.’
‘Please,’ the salesman said, dripping with desperation. ‘Five minutes. That’s all I ask. Five minutes.’
‘We’re kind of in a rush right now. We have somewhere we need to be.’
‘Please, sir. Five minutes. I can change your life.’
Assuming that Julia probably needed more than five minutes to finish getting ready, he relented and allowed the sad man in.
‘Thank you, sir, you will not regret this.’
The salesman struggled to drag the suitcase through the door, presumably trying everything in his power to avoid nicking the doorframe, or – worse – the hardwood floor (which Julia recently dented after throwing a high-heeled shoe at him for some forgotten reason). The salesman gently set the case down on the floor, until his labored breathing forced him to put his hands to his knees for a moment, waiting to catch his breath.
‘Are you okay?’ Jimmy asked, worried that the man was about to puke.