He's some sort of business man standing in a bland hotel room waiting for an offer. An offer he can accept. Staring at the neon flashing on the flat roof tops and beyond that, the desert.
Some sort of businessman in some sort of fix.
Trying to focus on the message, on what was unsaid. Trying to fit a face to what was unsaid.
Why won't they say yes or even say no?
Who do I pay to make it happen?
Who put the pistol in the bag? Was it the manager or the woman? Why are they taping everything I say?
He's some sort of businessman with goods in his bag. Some sort of businessman in some sort of sales. His hotel room is his world full of loose ends. He sits in his hotel. And thinks about business. Some sort of business. Whatever it is.
Just like you and me.