Please, Mr. Kennedy

Rating: 10/10 (20 December 2013)

Right around the same time I started wearing Chuck Taylor's and aviators, I was having a nightly sexual tryst with my boss. While she claimed to love me, I fear her passion was unrequited, I only did it because I maintained the circular logic that the more I had sex with my boss the cooler I would become; but, she was from Wisconsin and made love like it. I remember one night, we just finished up and she had this knack for tying back her hair in bed to the point where it looked like she was giving herself a face-lift. She put on Snow Patrol and began bobbing her head like it was on a spring, slowly reminding me that we are all in a circuitous free fall around the drain's end... I said to her, "this isn't music." That's pretty much "Inside Llewyn Davis" in a nutshell.