“Didja catch the latest Gladiators’ episode last night?” Clay asked, leaning against the examination table with his forearm. He had to raise his voice to be heard over the sound of low vibration and labored breathing.
Walter looked up from his work with a sour expression. He had a face like a very sad bulldog, with jowls sporting thick grey mutton-chops. “Feh. The first season was the only real season. Everything since has been dull repetition or failed attempts to ‘jazz it up.’” Walter failed to mention that his TV had not worked for the last three weeks and he could not be bothered to replace it. The job, working out, and Joann kept him busy anyways.