All his life he felt like an outsider, the spoon did. At every placesetting, always lingering on the edge of the action, always looking inward at himself. But one day, on the radio, he heard music. Glorious music! Jumpy, thrumming, joyous. He listened closely, wanting to know who had made such music. The song ended. The music was by Spoon, the announcer said. Ah! His joy doubled, his silver concavity shimmered. So the spoon listened to the radio every day, wanting to hear Spoon again, expecting he would. But he never did, because most radio is very bad these days, and they never play good music, and when they do, they usually play it just once. Goddamned weasly corporations goddamnit.
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