Jeremy's eyes and lips are clenched as he whistles into the microphone.
The crowd is transfixed by his whistling as a single parched guitar harmonizes to his whistling in the background.
His new wife lies sleeping on a straw mat somewhere beyond him, blissfully drunk on spirits and emotion.
Fairy lights streak the night sky.
This must be love, the portrait we came to see.
The after wedding after party where softer less articulate speeches and vows are exchanged on a dusty plaster rooftop in little india.
The night swells.
Lewis drops Old Cape Cod and love breaks out a wonky waltz between two very old friends.
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