The Repairman moved as if he was going to speak, then stopped.
“…You know,” he said, after a brief pause, “I never counted.”
Thinking for a moment, he finally replied, “Over ninety years’ worth, I can tell you that much.”
He hoped that was a good answer. It was the only one he could come up with.
“Well,” the inkblot sighed, "it’s been nice to meet you, but…“
He tapped his siren light, which made a ‘tink’ sound. ”…I should probably get going. You sure you’ll be all right?“
“Ninety years? Crikey…” he mused, words trailing off in moderate surprise. “Aye, I reckon I’ll be fine. Ye take care ‘f yerself, eh?” the great white said, giving a solemn nod to the other.
He wasn’t sure what Bruce would do with this new information, but if he took the news this well, the Repairman was certain Bruce would do some interesting things.
“You too,” he replied, returning the nod.
With that, he started to row his way towards Free Country, USA.
Siblings-a-Fixin' 