Two high-school juniors were talking during intermission of a concert. "Hey, Mavis is pretty good at Debussy," one remarked. "Aw, she doesn't have much 'go' about her," replied the other. "You know what?" he continued. "Her mother pays her a dollar an hour for practicing." "You're kidding!" "No, I'm not. Mavis practiced eight hours a day all summer just so she could get all that money." "That's a heck of a reason to practice! No wonder she doesn't have any 'go.' She doesn't play for the fun of it. Heck. When I practice, I get so lost in it my folks holler for me to stop so they can rest." "Yeah! I know what you mean, I fool around a lot, too."
Oh lord, where to begin? My kingdom for a comic artist who can render all the subtle subtexts of this "exchange." Why am I imaging them smoking clove cigarettes and clutching copies of "Howl"?