Joe Jukic (running a hand through the long, wavy hair falling past his shoulders, the kind that catches the light like a renaissance painting): I grew it out on purpose, Nelly. The Jesus hair. So we can finally go home—to the city that still loves us. New York.
Nelly Furtado (tilting her head, half-smiling, half-curious): Home, huh? You mean the one that never really let us go.
Joe: Exactly. And while we’re there… we should do it right. Broadway. Jesus Christ Superstar. You and me. The whole damn production. The city that loves us deserves the show that was always meant for it.
Nelly: Broadway? In that hair?
Joe (grinning, pulling a single crumpled dollar from his pocket and holding it up between two fingers): All it takes is one-dollar bills. Stack ’em, pass ’em, plant ’em. That’s how you spread the One Love gospel. One dollar at a time. No bigger sermons needed.
He tucks the bill back into his pocket like a secret handshake with the universe.
Joe: So what do you say, Nelly? Grow the hair. Take the stage. Go home. One love. One city. One show.
The street noise of wherever they are fades just enough for the idea to hang in the air between them—half joke, half prophecy, all New York.
