Yep. ( is his answer. is he going to elaborate on what he means? no, no he is not. he'd gathered from the dream and the waking up next to a stranger in a motel room that he'd never been to in his life — although he's pretty sure he's been to a motel room that was, like, the spitting image of it back when he was a kid — and from conversations he's had at the roller rink ""party"", they — the ""cursed"" — are from all from very different places. ) They're totally uncultured though, and have no idea what they're missing out on.

( it's been a long time since peter's been anywhere that sells cassettes — the last time he'd been on earth, he'd found that music shops were all but a thing of the past, and the few that did exist had circled back round to selling vinyl which was fine, but vinyl wasn't exactly ideal for transporting back to space. and cassettes, more than any other medium peter's familiar with, has one great advantage: all you need is a pen to fix it. CDs? nah. once they're scratched, they're scratched, and you can't keep recording over them. records? same problem, only worse.

plus, the slow degredation of cassettes is charming in its own way, and each time he's needed to re-record one or some of his favourite songs, it's involved the space version of a roadtrip, one of the few times peter prefers to travel alone.

he lifts a shoulder in a loose shrug, the physical equivalent of an 'eh, you do you.' steve's opinion is totally valid, even if peter really doesn't agree. )

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