“Petey Pumphouse.”

“What?”

“My mustache. If I had one, that is. I’d name him ‘Petey Pumphouse.’ It’s informal, yet harkens back to a more masculine era. Lotta hark in that name.”

“I don’t give a shit, Weir.”

“What’s your’s name?”

“I didn’t name my goddamned mustache, man.”

“What if it wanders away?”

“I’m gonna go stand behind the drums for a while.”

“Okay. I’ll, uh, see the two of you soon.”