Carabas

There's this man I'm hanging around waiting to talk to. He'd said something about an old massacre involving the Minoans, and how events are about to repeat themselves, and asked me to wait around. But I'm getting impatient, and the longer I wait, the more I'm convinced that this is all nonsense anyway. Finally I get up to leave, and ask this other guy, this kind of hanger-on, to give his boss the message that I couldn't wait.

Instead, he tries to convince me to stay. He starts talking about how that Minoan disaster wasn't my fault, that I shouldn't have blamed myself for my inaction, that I couldn't have stopped it even if I'd stuck around, but that if I run from my sense of guilt now, I'm just going to make sure those events repeat themselves. Annoyed by all this, I make fun of him as I try to shake him off and leave, but he follows me out to my car. He talks about the time I married into the family of Lot and found the women practicing strange magic, and in my horror, slaughtered them, including my bride. He talks - and eventually, sings, operatically - about this long litany of disasters caused by running from my guilt. This ends in an operatic pronouncement of doom as I finally drive off.