On the day that it's finished, Joe invites me over for dinner again. After the meal's over—and Joe's so anxious that he don't even tell Marge how nice the tuna fish casserole was—we go down into the basement. Marge doesn't come along.
"What's the matter with Marge?" I ask. "Ain't she interested?"
Joe jams his hands in his pockets, scowls, and says: "We've been having a little trouble, Harry. She doesn't see things my way."
It isn't any of my business so I clam up and walk over to where the whole front half of the basement is curtained off with a couple of old sheets and a drawstring.
"This is it," Joe says proudly, pulling on the drawstring. "The greatest invention since the wheel!"
Well, to tell you the truth, son, I was kinda disappointed. I had expected something big and shiny but what there was looked a little like a cross between a phone booth and one of those things in train stations where you take your own photograph. I looked inside and all I could see was a big screen in front, like on a television set, a coin slot, and a funny looking hat with a cable leading out of it.
"It's real nice," I says, not actually knowing whether it was or not. "What is it?"
"I call it a Paradise booth," Joe says.
I took another look at the machine, and then looked at Joe. It occurs to me that maybe he's been working too hard or that arguments with Marge have sorta unsettled him.
"Look, Harry," Joe says, "remember when we were talking about all the people who didn't fit in this world?"