[to Frank] Joann was telling me you write music, thinks that might be good. I can give you a try. What I want is songs that echo. The stuff we're doing now is like somebody's bedsheets. Spread 'em out, soil 'em, ship 'em out to laundry, you know? [Frank nods] But our songs... I want to be able to fold ourselves up in them forever. You understand? That's the most you'll ever get out of me, Wordman, ever.
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