- Narrator: The next thing you know you're looking back instead of forward. And now, at the climax of all those years of worry, sleepless nights, and denials, Bill finally finds himself staring his death in the face, surrounded by people he no longer recognizes and feels no closer attachment to than the thousands of relatives who'd come before. And as the Sun continues to set, he finally comes to realize the dumb irony in how he had been waiting for this moment his entire life, this stupid awkward moment of death that had invaded and distracted so many days with stress and wasted time.
- Narrator: He will spend hundreds of years travelling the world; learning all there is to know. He will learn every language, he will read every book, he will know every land. he will spend thousands of years, creating stunning works of art. He will learn to meditate to control all pain. As wars will be fought, and great loves found, and lost, and found, lost, and found, and found, and found and memories built upon memories, until life runs on an endless loop. He will father hundreds of thousands of children whose own exponential offspring he will slowly lose track of, though the years. Whose millions of beautiful lives, will all, eventually, be swept again from the Earth. And still, Bill will continue. He will learn more about life, than any being in history, but death will forever be a stranger to him. People will come and go, until names lose all meaning, until people lose all meaning and vanish entirely from the world, and still Bill will live on. he will befriend the next inhabitants of the Earth; beings of light, who revere him as a god. And bill will outlive them all, for millions and millions of years, exploring, learning, living. Until the Earth is swallowed beneath his feet. Until the sun is long since gone. Until time loses all meaning, and the moment comes that he only knows the positions of the stars, and see's them whether his eyes are closed or open. Until he forgets his name, and the place he'd once come from. He lives, and he lives, until all of the lights, go out.
- Narrator: Neither of these two people remember why they're there, or who exactly this other person is. But they sit and they watch a game show together. And when it's time for Bill to leave, he stands and says something beautiful to him.
- Bill: You are forgiven.
- Narrator: He woke up the following morning and thought his room looked different. His mouth was bleeding; four of his teeth had fallen out in the night. They looked sorta like dog teeth. Everyone in the supermarket looked like some sort of demon, and they all had gigantic bacteria ridden crotches buried in all the god damned produce.
- Fish hallucination: The pipe is leaking! The pipe is leaking! The pipe is leaking!
- Narrator: Bill was born on a late Tuesday morning, into a world of orange and red. He likes the way the aqua marine rug feels across his hands. He likes sunbeams, and rockets, and the smell of the backyard in the morning. He likes tigers, and trees, and melted chocolate ice cream, and watching the lights while sleeping in the back seat. Someone sits on the shore and tells him how the waves have been there long before Bill existed, and that they'd still be there long after he's gone. Bill looks out at the water and thinks of all the wonderful things he will do with his life.
- Narrator: He'd brushed shoulders with death on a few occasions, but in his carefree youth, it had almost seemed like an abstract, impossible thing to ever happen to him. But with each passing decade, he began to gauge the time he probably had left. And by his 40s, what he considered his halfway point at best, he had come to know just one thing: you will only get older.