Songbird, by Kenny G. My dad loves jazz, among other types of music, and sometimes in the evenings he would sit in the library in the front of the house, reading and listening to music. (I assume he still does, but I'm not around in the evenings much in pipersville.) This song in particular is one I associate with him, and more importantly with the corner of the house that is his personal spot. The blue leather couch and set of side tables are usually strewn with the newspaper, whatever novel or biography he's reading, and a bunch of highlighted copies of value line.
I even made a copy of his CD.
oh shit, does that mean to be a functional and not broke adult i have to invest? and read the tiny tiny print in value line?
The thought of buying such a magazine (is it a magazine?) is absolutely terrifying. May we never grow old.
ReplyDeleteyes. seriously. may we never care so much about money that we spend our free time obsessing over it? (not that this is true of my dad, just sayin')
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