As much as you could view the ‘oh hello…’ recording as a clear divide between Martin and Jon, I like to think it could be less simple than that.

Wherever they are, whatever happened to them, they went through that process together, joined at the heart. Whatever journey it was that they traveled, I have no doubt that it was a difficult one.

One that could leave a mark. A mark so deep perhaps that it comes down even to the lowest frequencies, something a tape recorder could just barely pick up. Something deep in the wells of a soul.

Could it be that they have their somewhere else? Their peace? Everything is as it should be, except for that building, static-y pit their stomachs; like the rumbling of the wheels on a cassette, a radio struggling to find a channel.

An unidentified reaching, from the eye, or the Web, or some other residual fear left inside, reaching and clawing to be fed, growing and changing and morphing to become something new entirely, something that needs what remains…

And what if that feeling built to a crescendo as Martin found his hand laid against a previously unseen tape recorder.

It’d be rude not to say hello.