A 45-year-old woman brings home a 21-year-old street musician. Their attraction isn’t physical.

It’s clearly musical.

For three hours they play solidly. Blues into jazz, jazz into scat. From scat it’s just a short but unorthodox hop to Bach.

Sometimes she leads and is the teacher. Sometimes it’s him.

In three hours the words uttered are few.

At last they take a break. “So” she says “do you often go home with strange older women?” then laughs uncomfortably. He just looks awkward, yes darting to the door “uh maybe it’s like time I uh went…” His inflection indicates a question.

“No” she sighs, “you don’t have to do that. I’ll shut up, let’s play”. He looks relieved, “do you know ‘We’re going to be friends‘ by the White Stripes?”