Why You Should Never Listen to a Dying Man

You are ROBERT HENWAY.
You are 37 YEARS OLD and were raised in a BARN. You are a SALTY OLD BASTARD, though that has very little to do with you literally being raised in a BARN, which you a most certainly not SENSITIVE ABOUT. You hide your OLD BASTARDNESS behind a DISTANT, if politely SCATTERBRAINED mask.

You currently live in a BARELY FUNCTIONING APARTMENT, which you rarely stay in. It's not because your BROTHER died there. Who told you that?

Speaking of said BROTHER, he is the reason you are in this HELL. Or you blame him, at any rate. Some days, you're not so sure anymore.

About FIVE YEARS AGO, You and he arrived on the shore of TESLA, set to leave your boring past as a CATTLE RANCHER on some minor island behind. Then he DIED.

You think. It gets a bit FUZZY, here.

But before he went, he made you promise, for some INSIPIDLY STUPID REASON, to dedicate your life to being a DOOR-TO-DOOR SALESMAN. You were surprised, but also HALF-DRUNK, so you agreed.

You have come to DEEPLY REGRET this decision.

Sadly, your DISTINCT AVERSION to breaking promises seems to bring your downfall, which is what this MESS is starting to look like.

You VALUE YOUR PRIVACY, which is good, except for when you get lonely and crave HUMAN CONTACT. You like to think that you can occupy your mind enough through HOBBIES to deal with that. In that spirit, you have taken up the HARP, which you like to think you are PRETTY DAMN GOOD AT. You've also begun SCREWING AROUND with an OLD COMPUTER you found in the dump. Your MINOR ABILITIES at messing around with ELECTRICITY makes this an interesting, if a bit strange, activity. Sadly, none of this really helps.

You like to think that you're making the world a BETTER PLACE by selling fridges, but you know it's a lie when you see the TOTAL CONFUSION in peoples faces when their appliances happen to CONVENIENTLY DIE when you walk up to their doorstep. It does AMUSE you somewhat, though.

You wonder if perhaps there's more to life than RUNNING AROUND, KNOCKING ON PEOPLES DOORS. You are, in fact, beginning to feel a lot like a JEHOVAH'S WITNESS, but without the FAITH. It is all rather BOTHERSOME, but that's yet to have stopped you. The SMALL STACK of bottles at the door do, though. Sometimes. When you're tired.

It's not your job that tires you, though. It's mainly your occasional forays into SUPER-DOM, under the guise of DUPONT DUPONT, THE MAN IN BLACK.

What will you do?

Robert Henway, as stated above, is a lazy bastard who masks it behind somewhat thin layers of politeness, as well as a thick layer of scatterbrained-ness that may or may not actually be real. He's getting old, tired, not quite up to learning new tricks, but he's also prone to random bursts of action that tend to leave him feeling rather at a loss as to what to do. He's in need of a focus, basically. He has a great dislike towards people who tap their fingers, which borders the irrational, as well as a distinct lack of use of crude vocabulary, which is not to say that he doesn't know any - what with being raised on a barn and all - but that he simply refrains from using it often. He much prefers to make his spitefulness towards people with better lives than his known with subtle insults. Well, he thinks their subtle.