there he is ...and the thing i can't shake from my head is... why? presumably if he had a piano, he has a home. it's not your typical busking instrument. does he play across from the minster as a hobby? part of the tourist trade? where does he call home? how many family? do they even care he exists? do they know? i mean, at five he wasn't thinking to himself "i hope one day to busk w/ my piano before the York minster" he could've been a physician or a grocer. a divorced father of three who left because he'd convinced himself they'd be better off w/o him ...but he wasn't a street musician that locals knew or walked up to greet on their walk to work... he was a fixture. he sat at the mouth of the alley and he belonged... it was his. that quiet nobody. always there, a mystery. and no one knows... neither history nor present, likes nor dislikes, origin nor purpose, not family not friends not status... nothing. do they even wonder as they walk by?
it was freezing outside, especially after the snow began to drift. did he have a home to go to? what did he do w/ his piano when he went home? push it all the way there over the cobbles, shuddering and jolting? or did he sleep on the bench in front of the cathedral not 4 yards from his piano, his one possession?
i'm annoyed now that i didn't buy him a coffee... i didn't really know how to *travel* then. perhaps that doesn't make sense... but please yourself. he's of interest to me anyway
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