She played the guitar all lunchtime. She played jazz. It might have been several songs or it might have been one really long one with a few pauses for missing notes. It didn't look as if her efforts were appreciated too much by the passersby who gave her a wide berth; the important thing was that she was happy. Or sad. Or indifferent. No, the important thing was that she was in whatever mood best suited her jazz music song. Or songs. I don't get jazz.
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