You are at the salvage car auction. Palms begin to sweat. Eyebrows high, with a pulse to match. Leaning so far forward that you are breathing down the neck of your competitor. Syllables pouring forth from the auction podium like a stream frothing and crackling as it tumbles over a waterfall.
- Is that guy in the garage uniform going to stay in this?
- How about that woman who came from her office job, still in her pinstripes?
- Is that young dad with the baby on his chest going to hang in there?