At the party for two hours. Time passes with laughter and smiles and graphic portraits of what will
At the party for two hours. Time passes with laughter and smiles and graphic portraits of what will come. Conversations in low voices, abruptly stopped when people walk up to chat. Not being chatters, you keep it short and sweet. Offer to refresh their drinks, as you’ve poured yours into a planter to escape discussions about whether to microwave baked potatoes. It’s not their fault. They have no idea you’re in the middle of turning the peg on a gorgeous violin. They don’t understand how meticulous you must be. Too much tension and the string will snap, marring the fingerboard and bridge. Too little and it all goes slack. Dial in the right amount of tension and the whole instrument sings when you touch it, or even hum close to it. Sympathetic vibration. While sitting on a nice mid century modern sofa, a concerto will break out. She’ll say you have no idea. You’ll say show me. She will. While she’s disposing of the evidence in a perfectly lewd way you’ll remember on your deathbed, you’ll see the look in her eyes. The one that says she’s ready for Mahler. them thangs -- source link
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