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Monday, May 23, 2005

I am a salesman.

Willy was a salesman. And for a salesman, there is no rock bottom to the life. He don't put a bolt to a nut, he don't tell you the law or give you medicine. He's a man way out there in the blue, riding on a smile and a shoeshine. And when they start not smiling back--that's an earthquake. And then you get yourself a couple of spots on your hat and your finished. Nobady dast blame this man. A salesman is got to dream, boy. It comes with the territory.

Death of a Salesman, Requiem
Arthur Miller

1 Comments:

Anonymous Mike said...

I read this and pictured you pulling into some small Kansas town on a train with a straw hat and shiny shoes, convincing the town that you're there to start a school band, selling everyone instruments and falling in love with the single, hot, teacher of their one room school house.

10:00 AM  

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