“She Will Be Loved” is playing in a grocery store. He explains to a person with headphones in that the song was about a couple he knew, not him, but the girl who is on his arm in the video still “had to be there for it to work.”
He hands a black and white photo of himself holding his child to two people who were walking on the other side of the road.
In the middle of a public square, to no single individual: “It took some convincing, but we finally got the clothing line in Kmart—what? No, I’m not on The Voice anymore. The talent on that show is unbelievable. Everybody can learn from each other. Did you see the one where I taught four people how to do nothing they didn’t already know how to do. It’s just in there.” He points to somebody's heart who is walking by. They flinch.
In an interview for Entertainment Tonight responding to the question “How are you?”: “No, we didn’t tell anybody we were going to crash their wedding and we just assumed that they liked Maroon 5.”
“No I won’t take my shirt off right here! No!” Adam takes his shirt off.
He lunges at a man, familiar, in nice denim and leather boots, and a kind of undone flannel. He apologizes to the stranger, “I thought you were someone else.”
He gives a peace sign to TMZ reporters before they approach him.
He says, “What do you want?” into the mirror. He hums old songs. Tears fall.
400,000 people sing all of his songs back to him. He deserves this. He really, truly has worked very hard for this. He has legitimately touched the lives of thousands of millennial and boomer mothers and their sons. “Take your shirt off, Adam,” they all yell in unison. He does.
He rubs the lotion on himself. He puts it in the basket.
“I’m a TV personality too, Blake. Shutup! SHUT— yeah, Shelton, like Nick Cannon. I do actually know Nick Cannon. YEAH I DO! Me and Nick are tight! Yeah huh! I’ll call him right now!” An entire crowd is cheering. He calls a number that does not work.
His wife wakes him, shouting in his sleep.
He nods at somebody he thinks is looking at him and says “I am sick of this famous life” to himself.
He keeps showing his drivers a tribal tattoo and saying what it means.
A female voice: “Hey are you Adam Levine?”
“Yeah, ha.” He looks down, then up, then flicks his nose, “Yeah I am.”
“I think it was messed up back in 2014 that you just crashed my sister’s wedding like that.”
“What, this? This leather jacket I’m wearing even though we are in tropical weather?” Adam says this to Ellen DeGeneres.
“Who is Jane? She is everybody. The songs are about everybody.” Adam leaves the public pool because nobody was listening. No, wait—everybody was listening.
“And I got this tattoo in Ecuador. I love foreign places, to travel. This tattoo represents my love for Porsche. You know cars, man—” He says this to his driver. “Blake doesn’t have a Porsche, ha.” He looks out the window.
A figure. A pond, a radiant swirl.
Where are you, Blake?