Who listens to it?
"Oh, a bunch of doctors and medical students."
Any prudes in the audience?
"Not me," she laughed. "But there's bound to be at least one, anyway."
Okay, he said. He spent the next two hours telling bawdy stories.
A month later George knew he had grown to rely on Karen more and more.
In fact, he knew he was falling in love with her.
"Hi," she announced. Her voice sounded excited. "George, I just had a look at your body. It's coming along fine—in fact, it's bee-ootiful! I'll be with you in about ten minutes. Enjoy some music while I'm gone. Bye!"
Then the music lanced into his brain at a tremendous volume. George quivered in real pain as each note blared forth. It was the loudest version of the Warsaw Concerto he ever hoped to hear. As the music progressed, blatting its way through painful crescendos and screaming treble notes, he tried to shut out the sound of it. It was impossible. It was a tearing, screeching nightmare of sound, that put him back on a hurtling elevated train with the sound of a young girl's scream in his ears, and the pain of a body crushed beyond recognition. With a convulsive shudder, George was unconscious.