And suddenly, I hear music filling the street.
A trumpet blares, a guitar strums, a voice sings out. I have no clue where it’s coming from and I don’t care to know. All I care about is that I can hear it, and after several days of rain and clouds and quiet, it’s a clear night, the type of night that people would want to listen to music.
I poke my head out the window, looking left and looking right. A man with a bouquet of flowers crosses the street. I wonder where he’s headed. He seems unsure, hesitant—but also relaxed. Confessing his love? Asking for forgiveness? Visiting the sick? I’ll never know where he’s going tonight.
A woman walks her dog. A couple passes her by. I know that mosquitoes will fly into my room if I keep my windows open for too long, but that’s fine, as long as the music flies in with them.
The trumpeter speaks to me like a long-lost friend. I’m no longer alone.
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And suddenly, I hear music filling the street.
A trumpet blares, a guitar strums, a voice sings out. I have no clue where it’s coming from and I don’t care to know. All I care about is that I can hear it, and after several days of rain and clouds and quiet, it’s a clear night, the type of night that people would want to listen to music.
I poke my head out the window, looking left and looking right. A man with a bouquet of flowers crosses the street. I wonder where he’s headed. He seems unsure, hesitant—but also relaxed. Confessing his love? Asking for forgiveness? Visiting the sick? I’ll never know where he’s going tonight.
A woman walks her dog. A couple passes her by. I know that mosquitoes will fly into my room if I keep my windows open for too long, but that’s fine, as long as the music flies in with them.
The trumpeter speaks to me like a long-lost friend. I’m no longer alone.
