He stood, abandoned on the desert, and sent his song to the fleeing car.
“Tell me what did I do today? Tell me how do I prove it’s okay? Tell me, my love and I’ll change everything your way.”
His cell phone buzzed.
“Signal out here, crystal clear!” He sang before looking at the text.
“It’s because of the Michael Bolton impression. I’m leaving you.”
“That stings,” he sang, decrescendo.