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William Parrish: Hello? Is anyone here? [Louder] I said is anyone here? Death: [Bill's voice] Quiet down William Parrish: Where are you? Death: I'm here William Parrish: What is this a joke, right? Some kind of elaborate practical joke? Heh, at my fortieth reunion we delivered a casket to the class presidents hotel room and uh-- Death: Quiet William Parrish: [Backing out of library] Death: Where are you going, Bill? William Parrish: I uh... Death: The great Bill Parrish at a loss of words? The man from whose lips fall "rapture" and "passion" and "obsession"? All those admonitions about being "deliriously happy, that there is no sense in living your life without" all the sparks and energy you give off, the rosy advice you dispense in round pear shaped tones. William Parrish: What the hell is this? [Creaking, a shape appears in faded window] Who are you? Death: Just think of millenniums, multiplied by eons, compounded by time without end. I've been around that long. But it's only recently your affairs here have piqued my interest. Call it boredom. The natural curiosity of me, the most lasting and significant element in existence has come to see you. William Parrish: About what? Death: I want to have a look around before I take you. William Parrish: Take me where? Death: It requires competence wisdom and experience, all those things they say about you in testimonials. And you’re the one. William Parrish: The one to do what? Death: Show me around, be my guide. And in return you get... William Parrish: I get what? Death: Time. Minutes, days, weeks, let's not get encumbered by detail, what matters is that I stay interested. [Pause] Yes... William Parrish: 'Yes' what? Death: 'Yes' is the answer to your question. William Parrish: What question? Death: Oh Bill, come on. The question. The question you've been asking yourself with increased regularity, at odd moments, panting through the extra game of handball, when you ran for the plane in Delhi, when you sat up in bed last night and hit the floor in the office this morning. The question that is in the back of your throat, choking the blood to your brain, ringing in your ears over and over as you put it to yourself. William Parrish: 'The question'... Death: Yes Bill. The question. [Moves from behind the glass into shadowy area] The question. William Parrish: ...'Am I going to die?' Joe Black: [Steps out of the shadows, appearing as Joe Black for the first time] Yes.

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