[The music has become a piss poor soundtrack for the conversation. It's all serenity and beauty, but Richie's blood runs too hot to soothe.

He hates talking to this jackass, he decides. Nothing was ever safe, nothing couldn't be turned into a jab, and he never saw the hits coming. Just walked into every fist like a sucker with his head in the clouds.]

Yeah yeah yeah, I'm a real snake in the grass. But it takes one to know one, asshole. [He turns, tugging at his hair. He strides to the middle of the room and calls out to the ceiling.] Hey, Great Aliens in the Sky! We're done here! We've maxed out on the symphony, time to go home!