68. Song
There is something about jazz and Hawkeye, the intimacy brought on by her unbound hair. Unconsciously, he leans closer, keeps his eyes fixed on the unwavering beacon of her face. He wants to forget about the military for just one night, to take her home with him, to educate her about the development of third-stream from bebop; the evolution of something edgy, fumbling, and frantic into that slow glance they are sharing, understanding and alcohol, the long line of her spine beckoning to him from the low-slung back of her dark dress.