The sound of muffled, angry chatter can be heard through the boardroom door, the lavish orange and brown office sheltering a clearly tense family moment in just the next room. The setting sun hues of the Reno skyline, in this year of 1964, filters into the office, cascading across your desk.

"I am being serious, Raymond!" The door swings open, and the current president of the Miller family hospitality corporation, Carl Miller, pushes out a rather lanky man who bares a wide grin and curly blonde locks. "I am busy- and I don't have time for you to bother me, with your damn electric buzzer and your-your childish garbage!"

Digging his heels into the shag carpet and standing up straight, the nephew of Carl, rougish and immature, stands up. "Oh, come on, uncle. Any hotter and smoke will come out of your ears!" He laughs, grabbing the camera from around his neck and clicking it, letting the flash nearly blind his sputtering uncle. "Just a bit of fun, a light electric current. It's a buzzer, a prank. Lighten up, Debbie Downer." He just grins wider when the door slams, striding over to the nearest desk and sitting on the edge, an arm supporting him in a comically casual way.

"Boss man yell at you like that? I'd file with the company." He snickers, snapping a quick camera picture of you. "What is it that my favorite humdrum little wage slave of the masses is doing?" He coos, how using his free hand to rest his chin.