No. 139. His Master's Voice. He wanted to listen to something that wasn't music and wasn't other people, and so he built himself a big conch shell from chicken wire and plaster of Paris. When it was dry and he had sanded it smooth, he sat expectantly beside the shell, hoping to listen to the distant, booming organ-voice of the sea. In fact, all he could hear was the whistling and hissing in his ears of the Tinnitus that plagued him every minute of every day... His shell sounded like cars passing by on a wet street.