One mathematician - the last of his kind - dares to spend precious time puzzling through theorems, seeking out ancient tomes of knowledge written in arcane symbols. He is searching for a proof which meant something to his ancestors hundreds of years ago.
One day, in a dusty library in what used to be called New England, he finds it. Not only through reading the works of others, no, he has proven many new theorems, and his results would have held application to the software efforts of centuries ago. God weeps that there is no software now.
But he has at last found it, the final proof: that it cannot be proven that it cannot be proven ... that it cannot be proven conclusively whether P = NP.