Passing by Jackpot Records this afternoon, I heard the smoky, lightfingered strains of Ray Charles singing "Fever" floating out the door. Several men stood outside, snapping their fingers and smoking. Four blocks further east, people passing me on the sidewalk were still humming and whistling: "Fever when you kiss me, fever when you hold me tight." At home, on the couch with my glass of wine, I have it on repeat.
Infectious.
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