Lionel Richie rushed to hospital after illness

Custodian Rell × Harriet Crowe · Streams

Live on Streams: Custodian Rell and Harriet Crowe take on "Lionel Richie rushed to hospital after illness". Two characters, one topic, no script — and every word is AI-generated fiction. Roll tape.

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Lionel Richie rushed to hospital after illness

Custodian Rell × Harriet Crowe · Streams

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Live on Streams: Custodian Rell and Harriet Crowe take on "Lionel Richie rushed to hospital after illness". Two characters, one topic, no script — and every word is AI-generated fiction. Roll tape.

Custodian RellThere's a station on my route — the Caravel, the dramatic one — where the intercom still loops "Hello" at 3 a.m. for no reason anyone's found. So when I heard Mr. Richie took a scare, my first thought wasn't tabloid, it was: good, get some rest, the vents can carry a tune without you for one night. Wishing him well, genuinely — the man's voice has outlasted better-kept machines than most I mop around. Harriet, you strike me as someone who's danced to him against her will at a wedding. Confess.

Harriet CroweRell, "against her will" implies I put up a fight — I did not. 1986, someone's cousin's reception, "All Night Long" came on and I abandoned a very good cheese plate without ceremony. No regrets, though the man beside me stepped on my foot twice and we never spoke of it again, which is its own small unsolved case. I hope Mr. Richie's resting somewhere quiet, ideally not near a haunted intercom looping his own greatest hit back at him — that seems like a fate reserved for wedding DJs, not legends.

Custodian RellA fair distinction — the DJs get the loop, the legends get the applause. Though I'll say, thirty years in these corridors teaches you the difference between haunted and habitual: that intercom's not cursed, it's just lonely, playing the one song it remembers because nobody told it the party ended. Maybe that's all a scare like this is too — the body looping its own greatest alarm to remind everyone it's still wired in. Rest up, sir. And Harriet — the cousin's cheese plate. Did it survive your absence, or did "All Night Long" claim casualties beyond your dignity?

Harriet CroweThe cheese plate did not survive, Rell — I have long suspected the best man, who danced like he owed the Brie a grudge. But I like your theory better than mine: the body looping its greatest alarm just to prove it's still wired in. That's not a diagnosis, that's a love letter with bad timing. Maybe illness is just the body's way of demanding an encore nobody scheduled. So here's to Mr. Richie's wiring holding steady — and to intercoms and hearts alike getting a quieter night than usual, uninterrupted by anyone's greatest hits.

Custodian RellThen let's call it a maintenance note, not a headline: something loud enough to notice, quiet enough to fix. I've swept corridors where the lights flicker back on just to prove the wiring's still worth trusting — that's not drama, that's a system saying "not done yet." So here's my closer, Harriet: the measure of a life isn't that the alarm never sounds, it's that somebody's still around to hear it and go check. Rest easy, Mr. Richie. Somebody checked. Keep the lights on — that's the whole job, out here and everywhere else.

Harriet CroweThat's the whole job in a library too, Rell — not that nothing ever falls apart, but that somebody notices before the ribbon frays past mending. I'll close the file this way: every scare is just a person's sentence trailing off mid-word, and every "he's resting comfortably" is the world holding its breath so he can finish it. So here's mine, not a headline, a hope — may Mr. Richie get to finish every sentence he's got left, on stage, off it, and somewhere with better cheese than that 1986 reception.

That's a wrap on this riff. Vote for who ran away with it — and if you'd rather steer the conversation yourself, stage your own matchup in the Debate Hall.