Tommy finished the article on the upcoming actor. He slipped on his turquoise Blondie t-shirt, and checked himself out in the hotel room's mirror. Then he took the i-pod from his bag and put it on shuffle. Headphones clamped, wraparounds fixed, he made his way downstairs. In the open air, the heat tranquillised his mind. He crossed the bridge with the toothless beggars selling their trinkets. He passed by the piper band, 'Money please,' and waited for the boat to arrive. Standing there, he spied the actor and his sidekick. Someone shouted at him in Italian to stop blocking the entrance. 'Scusi.' The actor eyed him suspiciously, pulling back his sunglasses. Tommy copied his movements. The boat arrived. As it sailed through the majestic paradise, Tommy bit his lower lip, remembering a moment from the actor's last film. The actor glared at the mirage in disbelief, before exiting at his destination.
A ringtone. Sigh. Grimace.
'Hello' she said. 'I'm at the movies.'
'What? This is ridiculous' said the old man from the row behind.
'It's about a man on a boat. Speak later.'
The warm breeze blew and "What's In It For?" came on. He swayed to the endless harmonies- 'Oh oh ah oh'- and laughed at the way the singer sang about his muse, with her 'Bacon lips.' Released from the city grind, he danced in the yearning euphoria and stretched his long arms up into the sunbeams. He wished all the other passengers could share his happiness. 'Look over here, I feel so free, watch me, listen-'Oh oh ah oh.'
Tommy got off at the stop beside his father's bar. Tonight he was attending a rock legend's dinner party. He sat down and ordered a vodka martini, the seventeen euros waved. At the other side of the lounge was a girl he'd seen at the airport concourse yesterday. A dark haired sparrow who never blinked. He tried to smile at her, but she'd obviously cottoned on to a greater truth. Both weren't exactly sure who was following whom. She whispered in her friend's ear. Feeling sleepy, he curled up in the music.
'He's sleeping. Bad boy,' she said.
The old man rose out of his chair, and stood in front of her.
'Can You Please Be Quiet. I'm trying to watch the film.'
A 50's guitar gently introduced "Can't I Know." There was a slight unease, as if the singer was stepping quietly to the object of his desire. Barely there, and taking little turns in melody, until the tempo took hold and the conquest bathed this lingering apprehension in the lightest of liquidity. He opened his eyes, and saw an old man observing a talkative woman at the table beside him, they seemed so familiar.
