“Oh, not really,” he says, hastily bundling his papers together. “It’s not ready to be seen yet.”

As soon as he has the mess of papers- and he prays the ink hasn’t smeared too badly- in some semblance of order, he tucks them under his arm and rises to his feet.

“Anyway,” he continues, “You wrote me a song? I did not know song writing was among your considerable skillset.”