Only Jazz

The woman behind me in the train when the door button "Push to open" failed despite my repeated attempts. "Push it with enthusiasm", she said. Enthusiasm? Somehow it worked...

Later that day, with S. in an empty coffee shop somewhere in a rundown neighborhood. The lonely woman working there is young, wearing a low-cut pant that shows part of her beige panties. She is reading "The myth of Sisyphus" by Albert Camus. I feel something resembling pride. One of my favorite intellectuals, read here in a deserted coffee shop. The "Yeah Yeah Yeahs" are on full blast and she turns the volume down when we arrive.
Tea and coffee, pastries on display and on sale. She never stops talking to us and suddenly realizing this unusual volubility, she explains that there was no customer for the past several hours and she had no one to talk to.
S. and I are both happy to listen to her stories. Her work making sandwiches, the opened hours of the coffee place, the inexperience of the owners in this line of business, her reminiscence of the previous job at an art supply store ("It was not worth it, not even with the discounts"). She is happier now, she gets to play the music she wants except when the owners are around. "Then" she says shaking her head,"it's only jazz". The word is pronounced as if it was something dirty. She lowers her voice and adds "they're much older". Both S. and I nod in a conspiratorial agreement.

We are in a middle of an animated discussion when she comes up to us. "Do you mind if I leave you guys alone for a moment? I need to move my car or it'll get towed." We don't mind. She leaves. We're completely alone now.
Us and the Yeah Yeah Yeahs.