Zooey was performing some kind of punching-the-air-with-her-fist-in-a-demonic-ritual-kind-of-way dance. Reid wondered how Iggy Pop could have such a voodoo power over her body movements.

“RAAAW POWERRRR !” Zooey growled along with the music, “Come on Reid, feel it!”

“Um, that’s okay,” he said looking nervous, “I think you might have had enough to drink.”

“NONSENSE!” Zooey yelled over the music. She grabbed Reid’s hands, which were cold to the touch, and began to swing them in unison with her own. Reid could begin to feel his tension go away, and before he knew it, they were both screaming along and jumping.

When the song was over, Reid turned the stereo down to a respectable noise level and they collapsed back into their chairs.

“Aah, don’t you just love how that song makes you feel?” Zooey asked Reid earnestly.

“Usually, it just makes me hungry for pancakes, but now I really see what you’re saying,” Reid said, “I probably won’t ever look at that album the same way, but hey…”