Wow. Don’t you want to talk to her? She seems really cool, but in that laid-back way. Like you would go up to talk to her and it would turn out you were drinking the same wine. And you’d laugh and laugh. Maybe you would dance a little. Not in the sexual way, but in that “it’s Friday, let’s go out and have a good time” way. It would be so chill. She doesn’t even need a shirt, she’s so cool. All you know is that whatever music she’s listening to, you want to be listening to it too.
What’s that? She’s on the cover of the new Blue Note collection, compiled and mixed by Jazzanova? Wow, maybe you should look into that. You like those guys, and they have pretty good taste. Two discs of jazz sounds pretty good to you, and if she likes it, it must be good. Maybe you guys could leave the club, and you could stop in to pick up the CD just before the local Virgin closes. They’ll have it on the listening station in the lifestyle section. You can go home and crack open that ’98 pinot noir you’ve been saving, and you guys can talk about the war.
Maybe you’ll get home and put it on, only to find kind of cheesy vocal jazz, the novelty stuff with flutes. You go with it though, because you’re comfortable with your sexuality, and you don’t want to seem rude. By the end of the first disc, and halfway through the bottle, you’re really digging the music. Sam Rivers, Lee Morgan – you haven’t heard of any of these people, but if she says it’s good, you believe her. After all, she has her hair all puffed out as if she’s free.
It’s getting a little late when she decides to go home. The record lasted two hours, and you thought it had some pretty decent jazz on it. You take her to the door, where she promptly evaporates back into the multicultural gaia. Just before she is gone from you forever, you let her know how much you liked the album, and you thank her for appearing on the cover.