The speaker blared Jefferson Airplane into the late autumn afternoon.
“Don’t you want somebody to love?! Don’t you need somebody to love?!” Marty belted into the rake, surrounded by an audience of leaf piles.
Paul opened the porch screen door and stepped outside. He laughed as he carefully placed two mojitos on a table between their rainbow-painted deck chairs.
“You’re better at singing than the raking,” he called across the yard.
Marty rocked out, leaves scattering at his feet.
“You better find somebody to love!” He wailed.
“I already did!” Paul shouted. “Now come and drink this. The mint’s fresh.”