Great. He's happy; it doesn't take much to fill his head. I don't much care about how uncharitable that might be right now; I'm pissed, and he's a simpleton.

And for some stupid reason, I care.

While he's in the kitchen getting food, I'm headed up to the crow's nest with my trumpet. I don't know how to play it, but the air's cold up there and sharp, which is what I'm in the mood for. I'll tool around and see if I can't get a few useful notes out of it.