It’s almost a national pastime. Every weekend on streets and in cul-de-sacs, there’s an agent enacting a familiar ritual.
“I have $900,000, can I get $910,000? Nine ten, now twenty. Twenty, can I say thirty? Give me thirty, thirty …” the (mostly) men in blue suits cry, traditionally amid a throng of people about to make one of the most important decisions in their lives.
