“He took comfort in the neon signs, the wild strands of jazz creeping out of clubs whenever happy swells of people pushed through the doors in their finery.”
“Poor? What does that matter? When poverty creeps in at the door, love flies in through the window.”
“I don’t know a thing about jazz.” “That’s okay.” He pulled me toward the door and opened it. “You know music. Jazz will explain itself.”
“The Heart is a lonely hunter with only one desire! To find some lasting comfort in the arms of anothers fire...driven by a desperate hunger to the arms of a neon light, the heart is a lonely hunter when there's no sign of love in sight!”
“Jazz will endure as long as people hear it through their feet instead of their brains ”
“Was it a sign of Creeping Decrepitude?”