He thought about the classic hits he listened to at home, filling his whole empty house with song, something that a mother might like, and sang a few lines of “When I’m Sixty-Four.” Rachel beat time on the lid of her pot. “You have a nice voice, kid,” she said. “You could be a minstrel.” “Oh, thank God, there are other jobs for people besides being a weird conscripted soldier on the Border camp,” Elliot said. “Logically there had to be, someone has to make the food, the world would be stupid and make no sense otherwise. But I was terrified it was all dumb killing people in the face.”
