Right now the ULA is like a battered car up on blocks in somebody's backyard. A white-trash backyard overgrown with tall grass and weeds at the end of a dead-end street. A street of run-down shacks across railroad tracks from the big house neighborhood in the small-minded small town of today's literary world.
The four have jumped into the car, Jackman and Hendricks in back, Potter and Walsh in the front seat. They don't want to get the vehicle back on the streets-- the motor was last started a coupla times in 2009! They're content with the way things have been recently. Sitting in the car is enough for them.
The very lack of ideas and imagination in their conversation is striking. This causes me to think that what Frank and Jeff really want-- what they wanted when the team fell apart-- is control. They don't care if the car doesn't go anywhere as long as they have it. On that dead-end block. In that low-rent neighborhood.
Maybe not even so much their control, but that no one else have control of the once prized-and-gleaming speedster.