After-hours jam session, Chicago's South Side.
He's like a cat. Feline with his guitar, which is his only, deepest love. No, his only. The sound, the beat, the ideas... where do they come from? Any woman would be second to his music. He wouldn't miss me any more than the woman he left. He'd only feel pain for his music. Such is the ego of genius...
Must get used to it.
Woody razume!