'Well, I never,' said Mr Bigelow, and moved huffily away with the mincing step he had learned from the Imitation of Life show.

Billy perceived his friend's pain. It embarrassed him. He was thirty-four, a year and a bit older than Marvin, nearly a man. He had a good job as foreman of Assembly Line 23 in Peterson's Box Factory. He clung to adolescent ways, of course, but he knew that his age presented him with certain obligations. Thus, he cross-circuited his fear of embarrassment, and spoke to his oldest friend in clear.

'Marvin – what's the matter?'

Marvin shrugged his shoulder, quirked his mouth, and drummed aimlessly with his fingers. He said, 'Oiga, hombre, ein Kleinnachtmusik es demasiado, nicht wahr? The Todt you ruve to touch …'

'Straighten it,' Billy said, with a quiet dignity beyond his years.

'I'm sorry,' Marvin said, in clear. 'It's just – oh, Billy, I really do want to travel so badly!'

Billy nodded. He was aware of his friend's obsession. 'Sure,' he said. 'Me too.'

'But not as bad. Billy – I got the burns.'

His skoboldash sundae arrived. Marvin ignored it, and poured out his heart to his lifelong friend, 'Mira, Billy, it's really got me wound tighter than a plastic retriever coil. I think of Mars and Venus, and really faraway places like Aldeberan and Antares and – I mean, gosh, I just can't stop thinking about it all. Like the Talking Ocean of Procyon IV, and the tripartritate hominoids of Allua II, and it's like I'll simply die if I don't really and actually see those places.'

'Sure,' his friend said. 'I'd like to see them, too.'

'No, you don't understand,' Marvin said. 'It's not just to see – it's – it's like – it's worse than – I mean, I can't just live here in Stanhope the rest of my life even though it's fun and I got a nice job and I'm dating some really guapa girls but heck, I can't just marry some girl and raise kids and – and – there's gotta be something more!'