Wing watches, curious and intent, as America goes through the steps of folding the paper. It's kind of nice to get his thoughts on something else for the moment, instead of musing himself into a corner like he was earlier.

But then comes the man's question, and Wing stares blankly for a moment, "Phone number...?" Special someone. Lucky. "O-oh! AH-ha, uh n-no. Well.... _{I wish.}"

Wishes. Yeah. If only Deadlock had given him his personal comm frequency.