After spending a bit more time in Jones’ childhood home, the pair made their way back up to Marie’s apartment, with stale cigarettes and musty sheet music in tow. Jones lit up some of the cigarettes, marking how strong they were, and Marie looked through every single piece of music, marvelling at the sheer variety of it all.

“I don’t understand,” Marie said, sitting on the floor with every book open and spread out. “How do you have all this? I thought you never learned how to play.”

“I never said that.” Jones corrected. “I only said I never learned how to play piano. The only thing I knew how to play was the trumpet, and I grew out of it once I started spending more time in the system.”

“But, this isn’t sheet music for the trumpet. This is for the piano. Why do you have all of this?”

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“Call it hoarding.” Jones said. “Besides, I wasn’t able to give you a present last Christmas, so here you go.”

Marie perked up, her eyebrows askew. “Trumpet you said, I thought I saw a case in the bin.” And that she did. Marie pulled out the case to find a trumpet in one solid piece. It was strange. She had neer seen one in person before. And definitely never one in its case. She had always assumed that they came in two pieces, not whole.

Marie stood up with the trumpet and handed it to Jones.

“Could you play me something?” She asked.

“Nah,” Jones said, waving a hand. “I wouldn’t even know what to do.”

“I’m sure it’s buried up there in that brain of yours.” Marie sat down next to them and encouraged them to play the instrument. They blew into it and made a singular, rambunctious noise that caused quite a stir amongst Marie’s neighbors.