We open tonight on a close-up, slightly above but side view shot of a record spinning on a turntable. A thin hand enters the frame. It unclips the needle and swings the arm out.
While the record fizzes and pops as the needle turns into the groove, the camera zooms out. We see a modest living room. A woman slinks away from the record player and towards a man sitting on the couch. He sits straighter and smiles at her.
The music has begun.
The woman says something to the man, turning away from the camera. She puts her hand on his thigh. His arm slides around her, pulls her in closer. The camera jumps in, too close. Their heads are cut out of the frame. The lightning is murky. The picture is slightly out of focus.
We can hear muted gasps as the eager lips pull apart momentarily. The rustle of shirts being pulled off, the dull thud of belts being unbuckled. We can see searching fingers on goose-pimpled skin.
The camera spins around the couple, now behind the man. Thin fingers crawl across his shoulders, come to rest against the back of his head.
The song ends and the picture fades to black.