You two lovebirds should get a room, Walt says.
Wanna come back to my house? We can order pizza and
do homework, I say to Sam.
As long as we don’t have to listen to any more of that
wretched music?
Noah, I don’t know, but you may have to nix this love
thing if she’s hating on jazz, Walt says to me, shaking his
head. We may be too sophisticated for her.
You calling me unsophisticated, Walt?
If the shoe fits . . .
C’mon, Noah, let’s go back to your place, and I can show
you how a sophisticated lady acts.
I’m down for that, I say, grabbing her hand.
Duke Ellington, May 24, 1974. Lung cancer and
pneumonia. He said, “Music is how I live, why I live, and
how I will be remembered,” then BAM!
Thanks for the history lesson. We’ll see ya, Swing.
Wait, I thought we were hitting the batting cages, Noah.
I’m gonna pass on that.
You’re gonna play me like that, dude?
Are you even getting better, Walt? Sam says, laughing.
I’m as good as your man is at love letters.
Then you must be exceptional, she says, kissing me on the
cheek.
Have fun, lovebirds, he says, walking away, chuckling.
Save me some dinner.