Kenny G had just finished doing this 3 step oil process for his hair that he got off some Indian girl on Insta. He’s humming that tune by Willie Nelson and Julio Iglesias, “To All the Girls I’ve Loved Before…”

Coltrane can’t take it, he’s banging his head against the cold tiled wall, thinking, “caught smokin a spliff, shit ain’t fair, why I gotta do actual *time* for this? Its *unreal*!”

Its steamy, foggy. Coltrane is losing himself, crushed under the racism and bullshit this country deals out. But that aroma, whats that? “Naima?!,” he cries.

The coconut butter, the sesame oil, the sandalwood, all bring John to the brink.

Kenny G is somehow now both singing and nose-fluting both harmonies in a grand crescendo… “To all the girls we’ve loved before… Who traveled in and out our door.”

Fully engorged like a large, ancient, twisted oak, Coltrane goes balls deep in the guy’s ass mistaking Kenny’s beautiful hair for that of his wife.

All you can hear is showerheads hissing and Kenny G whimpering “^hooooooooooooo.” This is where Kenny G learned the circular breathing, endless note.