"If I had known you'd spend your time staring at that screen instead of reading your books, I would never have invested in one of these things…" Henry gestures at the large, square television making dents in their living room carpet.

"It's interesting, though," Abe argues from his perch in his arm chair, "the international distribution of information has changed so quickly. First it was newspapers, then it was radios, now it's television."

Henry takes one- albeit skeptical- look at the TV before retorting, "Abraham, you're watching the Ed Sullivan Show. This is hardly informative."

"Shh, there's a musical guest coming on."

"iAnd now, ladies and gentlemen, The Beatles!/i"

The two watch in silence for a moment, then Henry says, "Would you like some tea, Abraham?"

To which Abe nods his assent and Henry leaves the room. When he comes back, he is carrying two steaming ceramic mugs and The Beatles have finished their performance.

"I like those young men, they seem so enthusiastic…" Abe says as he accepts the mug.

Henry settles down on the couch, reaching for his book on the table and sipping on his tea.

"We have to go grocery shopping eventually. We're almost out of milk." Henry murmurs idly, flipping pages.

The next night, Abe and Henry walk through Washington D.C., enjoying the crowded city's cold February night air. They pass a store with its door propped open, and hot air flows from it. A few men argue inside, their voices carry out. They are arguing about the furnace. Abe spares the storefront a passing glance.

The voices die down and faintly, very faintly, music drifts, "…say that something, I wanna hold your hand. I wanna hold your ha-a-and…"

"Wasn't that the song those young men were performing on the Ed Sullivan Show last night?" Henry asks, turning to address his towering friend.

"The Beatles, and yes. It was. In fact, Mrs. Robinson down the hall was talking about them just this morning. Her daughter watched their performance last night. She was raving on and on about their 'atrocious' hairstyles and that 'proper men wear their hair short cut'. Do you remember when it didn't matter whether or not a man had short or long hair? I do…"

As Abe rambles on and on about the past, Henry stretches out his hand, slowly, and laces their fingers together.

Abe stops mid-sentence to look down at their joined hands. He smiles a little and then continues on as they walk.