city living

Every night, a man sits down in front of his piano and practices next to his large bay windows, opened about a third of the way, and the music in the night pleasantly wafts across what would ideally be a courtyard but is rather the ass end of a lot of buildings crammed together. Sometimes I peek out and watch him play, and I wonder if he ever gazes up at these windows to admire me while I repeatedly surf useless internet sites.

When it comes time to close the windows, I'm going to miss having such a beautiful soundtrack to my evenings.