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Summary
“It’s been said, ‘Everybody needs a place to rest; everybody wants to have a home. Don’t make no difference what nobody says, ain’t nobody likes to be alone.’”
Garak recoiled. “My dear doctor, don’t tell me that’s another of your little Bashir-isms. It has all the cloying sentimentality of one, yet the grammar is simply nauseating. Perhaps the universal translator is malfunctioning?”
Bashir crossed his arms, leaning forward on the table between the two of them. “They’re lines from a song by an old Earth singer, Bruce Springsteen. He was revered for his ability to convey emotions through music.”
Garak moved his face closer to Bashir’s, until they were mere centimeters apart. “I can understand this trite nonsense appealing to you, but why, may I ask, did you ever imagine I’d want to hear it?”
He sighed and settled back into his chair. “Just something you should think about, that’s all.”