They ate in silence for a moment, before Ángel nerved himself to ask, “What are we listening to?”

“Dmitri Shostakovich,” said Oberon. “Piano concerto number two, in F major.”

“I told my friend Marissa that you liked classical music more than pop or rock and roll.” Talking about music seemed safe.

“I’m not sure that’s true,” Oberon replied. “I would say that I am more comfortable with instrumental music, generally, because I often don’t understand lyrics.”

“Your English is great,” protested Ángel. “Better than mine. You could be on NPR.”

“You illustrate the problem perfectly, Ángel. My English is fluent, but I have no idea what NPR is.”

“Oh, it’s public radio. News and information. People with nice voices who tell you what’s happening in the world. My dad loves it.” Ángel belatedly remembered that his dad had tried to steal Oberon’s money, and wondered if he shouldn’t have mentioned him.

“Well,” said Oberon, either unaware or too polite to mention this gaffe. “Thank you. But I am often puzzled. I know I should listen to more music with lyrics, because it’s so popular, and I came here to learn and to understand. But it’s uncomfortable when I know that I don’t understand something.”

It was the most sympathetic—the most human—thing Oberon had said to Ángel. “Well, I guess we have that in common,” he said. “I mean, all of us.”

“Do you think so? That is reassuring, if true, Ángel.”

Oberon tapped on the tablet. The Shostakovich fell silent, and was replaced by Mike Doughty's “White Lexus.” Lonely guitar; sorrowful lyrics. “I cover this,” said Ángel, when it was over. “Covered, I mean.”

“You perform this song?”

“Yep. Sometimes I play in bars or restaurants. I like this song.”

“What does it mean?” Oberon asked. “A Lexus is a car?”

“It’s a metaphor.”

“I know what metaphors are, but I often cannot understand them. What does the Lexus represent?”

“I dunno, maybe a terrible relationship? Although it’s supposed to be a pretty good car,” said Ángel. Oberon gazed at him with blank green eyes, so Ángel tried again. “That’s the way I sing it. Like you’re trying to stop loving someone. Someone who only hurts you, but you love them, and you know it’s wrong to love this person. So you try to stop, and that hurts even worse? Does that make sense? I don’t think I’m explaining this very well.”

“No. That makes a kind of sense.”