*Oops, meant to post this to the other blog. Oh well.*
They are wearing matching outfits. One is older, one younger. They might be father and son.
And they play. Quietly, but assertively. There are no words, just the rhythms of their intermingling instruments. There are no songs, just one long session that changes tempo at their will. My pen changes tempo along with them.
The music supplements and enhances the words flowing into my notebook. I sit and I scribble until I can dally no more. The clock has run away and left me scrambling to get to work. I throw some bills in the tip jar, and thank them.
The notes follow me into the street and into the office. Playing still in my ears as I sit at my desk.