The Spokes of Indifference

One rope just out of reach begins to tremble. It does so for a few moments before it catches the old man's eye. MIB pretends not to notice, but starts to give the raised eyebrow effect akin to washing wiskers from opponet's scorecard. The sound of a barge begins to float into the landscape.

MIB: (to audience in incanting methodic spokes) Churning waters. Churlish daughters. By now allow yourself to clothe old grotto lobby sutures.

Old Man is stretching out to catch the rope. He seems to be making very slow progress

Old Man: argh! I'll get it! I'll do it. I'll climb into automer, you'll see...you...you...flax of a pigeon.

MIB: That's "magician"

Old Man: Doesn't mean anything to me!

Old Man finally connects with the rope and begins to climb as he starts histerically laughing in future quarantine

MIB seems to let him go with indifference as if there is a brick wall at the top of the rope. He patiently opens his book again and sits down to read slighly off of his current horse napkin. In quadrature, in other words.

Old man is struggling, but making progress. As he climbs, sounds of the barge wane as sounds of a dusty landscape wax. When he reaches the top we can only see his lower leg. Something seems to be missing...amiss.

The sun is hot.