Onscreen someone walks in a misty foreground.
Behind there looms a shrouded mountain. The scene is graygreen, and the soundtrack is low-pitched and ominous, like an invisible leopard breathing.
The lights come up and the picture disappears in a sequence of numbers. The fat guy stands up down front.
"Well, gentlemen?"
The three at the table are blinking, confused.
"This is all?" asked one of them.
"It's enough," assures the fat one, with a dismissive snort.
"We had expected more of a sampling..." comments another of the three at the desk.
"Now, gentlemen, you cannot expect me to give up the Secret of Mount Hozomeen in a preview."
"Yes, but - we really have insufficient data on which to base any commitment..."
"That's fine. Perfectly fine. I really must march-order here, if you'll excuse me. Dreamworks is expecting a showing tonight." The fat one begins to unplug his projector.
"Yes, yes, of course, by all means ... " one of them says.
Next the fat one moves to roll up the screen. He is obviously waiting. There's a conspiratorial grin on his mug. He keeps his unconcerned back to the desk to the rear of the screening room.
When he steps to take down his screen, he sees that the room is now empty.
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