An innocent young man sings in a British accent. Sounding far-away, back into the recesses of the pre-adolescent 60s. A jangly guitar twangs out, as the 3 part harmony responds. It sounds like the soundtrack to the intro montage, of a teenage boy rummaging through his dresser, as his mom cooks breakfast downstairs.
He puts a Beatles record on the turnstile. We watch it rev up to spin. Before it starts, he slides the window up, and ninja jumps out, flowers tucked between his shoulders.
His bedroom door opens, and his mom appears, eyes-wide when she doesn’t see her son. The Beatles keep playing, “listen, can I tell you a secret.” The catchy refrain bounces along, as she fumes.