[These lyrics]

The apartment is cloying, heavy with memories of Parker. The bed sheets still cling to her scent and he knows he should just wash the sheets, but that seems final. He’s not ready for final. In fact, August Anderson has had his fill of final.

Work is his salvation, trite but honest. There is no trace of Parker there, his mind the only minefield he has to navigate. There are distractions , things to keep him on task, things that require all of his attention. He welcomes it, turtling into his work, headphones on, filling his ears and his mind with sound: Jazz when there isn’t anything important to hear.

He is unsurprised, unsurprised and grateful, that the only thing to break through the walls of work, sound and distraction comes with the click-clack of heels and a scent he can’t help but smile at.

“Annie Walker, has anyone ever told you that your timing is fortuitous?”