Joe leans in, half-grinning, half-serious.
“Come on, Nelly… FADED wasn’t about me. I’m just an average Joe. Trudeau was born on Christmas Day. Psalm 45 level beauty. That man walked straight out of a Hallmark prophecy.”
Nelly shakes her head with that calm, almost cryptic smile she gets when she knows something Joe doesn’t.
“Joe… FADED was about you.”
Joe laughs like he’s trying to dismiss it, but the laugh doesn’t land.
“Me? No way. I don’t have the Christmas-born glow-up. Trudeau’s got the whole Messiah-baby-in-the-manger PR package. I’m just a guy with a strong right hand and stories that sound like fever dreams.”
Nelly steps closer.
“Exactly. You’re the one who disappears, reappears, shows up like a ghost in people’s playlists. FADED wasn’t about a prime minister. It wasn’t about glamour or politics. It was about someone who drifts in and out, someone real. Someone who doesn’t even know the weight he carries.”
Joe suddenly feels the room shift, like the Ghost of Friendly Checkers floated through the foyer.
“So… you’re telling me Trudeau gets the Psalm 45 face… but I get the song?”
Nelly nods.
“Not everything beautiful is born on Christmas Day.”
And for a second, even Joe doesn’t feel so average.
