Music box!!!!!!!! One hand holds it, the other turns the crank. He would pet it in case it likes that, but he can't because his hands are occupied, and anyway maybe that'd be weird anyway, so it works out. It plays music. Tommy is captivated.

Clay's pretty captivated too, to be honest. It's been a while since he's heard music that isn't his own singing.

And then the song ends. "Thank you, music box. I can also play it really slow or really fast--watch--" And he turns the crank as fast as he can, to get a sped-up version. "See? It's so nice and it lets me play it however much I want at whatever speed it wants, 'cause it loves me."

"I, uh. Sure."

"I've got three cylinders. It's, like, my prized possession in here, you know? Maybe in general. It is one of my favorite things definitely, 'cause they love me so much. But not my favorite because I do not choose favorites, I am like a good parent. Like Phil. Do you know Phil? Phil is so cool.

You know, I reckon Wil's wrong about you."

“Yeah, well, he’s got a big grudge against me for no reason, so.”

“Well. You took his stuff, that’s kind of a reason.”

“I mean, it was Eret’s stuff, Eret gave it to me, I mean—I’m just saying, like, I don’t know what he expected me to do.”

“Well. Either way. I think you are a pretty cool guy. D’you want to listen to the other songs sometime?”

“That depends, what are they?”

“Guess you’ll have to talk to me again to find out, won’t you, Clay?”

“Guess I will.”