You know, Jill, you remind me of my mother. She was the biggest whore in Alameda and the finest woman that ever lived. Whoever my father was, for an hour or for a month, he must have been a happy man.
By the way, you know anything about a man going around playing a harmonica? He’s somebody you’d remember. Instead of talking, he plays. And when he’d better play, he talks.[to Jill]