"No," he answers, truthfully. "I like it better on Earth. I'd love to go back to my shop instead," he answers. "In London, with all my rare books." He sighs wistfully, as he lets his hands be guided on the guitar.

"There's not really music in heaven. Only angelic choir. And no restaurants. No books!" He seems rather disappointed about this. "Just... clean halls, lots of angels. But listen to me ramble! Why don't you tell me about your home?"