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turning to page one
Silence. Fletcher finishes his meal. Puts the dishes away. Sits down on a couch. Still alone.
The apartment, like his office, is small but elegant. Pictures of icons on the walls. Monk. Holiday. Coltrane...
Fletcher reaches into a stack of LP’s: Chopin, Ravel... Pulls one out with the most delicate touch, as though he were handling a newborn. Sets it on a record player by his side.
A scratch, a hiss, and then --
-- FLETCHER’S SONG. Melancholy, lovelorn...
Fletcher just sits and listens, barely moves -- but you can tell the music now playing means everything to him...
A moment, and then...