“If you mean the Provincial Mental Hospital – yes, that's exactly what I'm talking about.” “Fuck that noise. My Earl's not going anywhere near that place.”

The waiters would send us up beer onstage as well as food, so now and again we'd end up getting pissed while we were playing.

Part of the time he spent in the speedster dashing hither and yon. Most of it, however, he spent in the vastly more comfortable mauler; to the armored side of which his tiny vessel clung with magnetic clamps while he slept and ate, gossiped and read, exercised and played with the mauler's officers and crew, in deep-space comradery.

I didn't mean to be a conversational monopolizer, hogging a rare chance to talk to the company founder; I just found him the only interesting person in the room to talk to.