The man's rambling train of thought is not entirely unlike a television set that's on the fritz. Or perhaps more accurately, a radio that keeps losing and gaining its signal, but that's a metaphor Wrench is a whole lot less familiar with. When the words do appear, they're already mid-sentence. When they settle down into the ether of nothingness again, the man keeps right on talking. But it's something. It's a lot more of something than Wrench has gotten for most of his life, so he actually smirks despite himself.

I get it. Magic's not a real thing where I come from either. But you're doing it.