Upstairs, you enter a cavernous ballroom, like a junior high school auditorium taken over by aliens with superior technology—featuring amazing lighting tricks and a Sensurround–style bass response that makes your chest feel as if it's going to explode.

[…] and he finds the Pleasure, and Credit of bearing a Part in the Conversation, and of having his Reasons sometimes approved and hearken'd to.

Anyway, I lie here and imagine grandfather celebrating a heavenly potlache – (heaven is the only place he'll ever celebrate it, for it's long since been forbidden by the government here on earth) – and the great Christian gates are opening for him now, and behind him the charred remains of his pipe and his blue denims bear witness to the last potlache of all.

He has read and traveled extensively.