[What is your life that Demonic Janitor is the first place you go?]

Right right, that's the mortar. I gathered that much.

[At the man's reassurance Richie only chuckles and shakes his head.] Yeah, this and about thirty more years in architect school. I'd rather shoot myself, thanks. That kid had a knack, like a little voice was telling him how things should be made. Once we had to melt some silver dollars into slugs for a slingshot — we were eleven, mind you, which only makes it all the more wild that he pulled it off. We got tiny molds to pour the silver into and he made a funnel to do it, and the end fit exactly into the holes of the molds. I mean there wasn't a sliver to be spared. He never measured once. Just eyeballed it all easy-breezy.

[Richie's smile quirks some at the clumsy pronunciation. Even if it's only a two letter title, the lack of familiarity has this poor sucker tripping up something fierce.]

You're not from a place with electricity, are you? [He packs on another block with a mighty heave.] Or you are, but radio's not a priority.