He’s old. Legitimately. And if I were to see him on the street, with his walker, or at Denny’s at 7:00 am sharp, I probably wouldn’t think anything of it. But he’s in this coffee shop at 9:30pm playing the piano with so much grace and experienced practice.
It’s a great skill, really. I wonder how old he was when he started playing. And if he was young enough for it to be an attractive thing for his romantic interests. I imagine a time lapse as he’s sitting at the piano, a young man initially playing at social events–people from the 50’s swinging skirts and tapping toes around him. Then he turns slowly shrinking as his back starts to hunch in on itself, age touching fingers leaving spots and pulling at skin, and now here he is. Interesting how our hobbies become us. Carry us through life.
I need something like that. I’m young. All I do is think, and my thoughts are barely carrying me through now.