The tiny transistor behind the reception desk is tuned to a classic rock station. “Layla” is coming in over the airwaves -
- Darling won’t you ease my worried mind.
Then the instrumental coda sets in, heartbroken piano and mournful guitar warbling through the speakers, as it has through millions of radios every day of the year all over the world since 1970.
One receptionist, maybe a few years older than me, speaks to the other, about the same age.
- Oh! For some reason I love this song.
- I wasn’t listening.
- Oh it just started.
- I don’t even know what it is yet.
- It doesn’t have any words. It’s just a -