"Ah! Quilt Arnold, my man, is it you? By the powers! I'm glad to see you. The Bitchster strikes again. Wood brought up. A hush descended across the audience as instruments tuned, creating small ladders of fifths that collapsed abruptly, snatches of solos that disappeared and reappeared like gags in a house of mirrors. His baggy shorts sagged over knobby knees that tapered into decrepit Reebok sneakers. They’re all wonderful cooks. She had finally managed to start breaking him down. He felt her warm breath upon his cheek, the perfume of her hair as she leaned over him.
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