Last minute waltz.
One-two-three, one-two-three, JUMP-two-three, one-two-three... Good, good - you've got it! Now try it again, from the top. And a-one-two-three... Greetings from the abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill, a combination squat house, launch pad, recording studio, interstellar refugee center, and - now - dance studio! You heard me right. Sure, sure - no one in Big Green can dance his way out of a paper bag; this much is true. But needs dictate actions in this corner of the universe as well as in yours, and damn it, we need money to get this tour off the ground. So..... dance lessons. Administered by Marvin (my personal robot assistant), as it happens. Oh, sure, laugh. You may laugh, but actually... he's not as bad a dancer as you might imagine. In fact, he's far worse than that. To observe that he is mechanical is less than surprising, I suppose. Actually, he's kind of mechanical even for a robot. (He doesn't do that robot dance any justice.) Fortunately, we live in an area wh...