Trois Gymnopédies. Lent et douloureux. Erik Satie, about 1890 I think. Somebody in the building plays it so well, note perfect, but it's transformed into something more elegant still- delicate as blue skies in summer- by the corridors and stairwells between us. The discreet touch of a stranger's fingertips to ivory. Fluid, unresolved, and the last note hangs for a few perfect seconds before the player returns to the start and the delicate bass chords begin again. Perhaps they're practising piano. Perhaps it's just someone's CD, running unattended, unheeded, unheard. It doesn't matter. Blue skies. Dada dada da dadada da.
