To the jukebox guy

We're still confused.

All we wanted to do was eat in peace and maybe work a little bit on our presentation for tomorrow so we can become a teacher and actually go to work, well, happy.

We ordered a porter and our favorite sammich. Then we sauntered over to the ol' jukebox to play, in no particular order: Into the Mystic, Darling Nikki, Tuesday's Gone, Walkaways, Atlantic City, I Still Miss Someone and So Lonely.

And there you were, with your dollar bill and the lingering behind us. As we punched in the numbers for Tuesday's Gone, you put your dollar in the box. Confused, we asked if our second dollar had fallen to the floor. It hadn't.

"It's for you," you said, kind of creepily. "It's yours now."

"No," we said. "(We) mean was that our dollar? Did it fall onto the floor?"

"No," you said again. "It's your dollar now."

And then you walked away.

So we picked Dylan, the Stones and Men At Work, cautiously. Our sammich came a second later, and we continued on with the eating and the planning for the presenting and the enjoying our porter and all of these things.

And not one of our songs came on. Not one.

We're still confused.