The drinks came quickly, to their suprise, and they drank in silence, which was a rarity. Zooey closed her eyes as she listened closely to the music that came out muffled through the speakers.

“Tell me the name and artist of the song that’s playing,” she encouraged Fritz.

“But…” he started.

“No, tell me the name or pay the forfeit,” she challenged with a smile. Fritz dipped his head into his bowl of coffee and pondered.

“Its Brazillian…” he began. Zooey nodded.

“Um, erm…” Fritz squirmed, “I know this…seriously.” Zooey lifted her eyebrows and slowly counted in French to warn him that he only had ten seconds left.

“Vivo Sanhando by Stan Getz and…oh…um, Joao Gilberto!” Fritz shouted in an exasperated tone.

“Your Portuguese is awful my dear, but yes, you are right,” Zooey said. Fritz sighed.

“And,” she began, “You lucked out because my forfeit was a bit sadistic.”

“What was it?” He asked curiously.

“Let’s just say the art museum would ban you,” she said.