Well, it was cold. I smirked. February, right? I was going back from another music studio. Again, nothing. Nobody needs a pianist, again. If I was more emotional, I could say "nobody needs me". But I was not. I was just feeling insanely cold.
Another day passed. "Another days" were turning into "another months", another months" into "another years". What was I waiting for? I have to disappoint you, nothing special. I was just looking for a job. I was a pianist. It was my first and only love. For me, the world could not exist. Only music counts, I used to say. I know it's stupid, but I... I wanted to make people happy. With music. My music. But nobody needs a pianist, right?
I was sitting in that bar. It was crowded, noisy and full of smoke. I hated it, but it was the only place where I could find a job. I was playing old rock or blues on an unstrung piano. Every evening.
The same songs every evening. The same faces every evening. I hated it.
But it was that better part of my life. Carrying heavy bag, full of newspapers, was not a pleasure at all. Especially in winter, when days were short, so I was walking back home in darkness. I wasn't living in a nice quarter, I must say – but it was the only one where I could rent an apartment - so streetlights usually were broken, or they didn't work, or nobody turned them on. And the cold. It was just insanely cold, both on the streets, where I spent long hours, and in my apartment. Small and cold apartment. And with no piano in it. Compared to this, that bar was just a wonderful place. Maybe crowded and with a lot of smoke, but warm and kind of friendly.
But I still hated it.
Author's Death Note:
Ok, I'm writing something like a music fiction, I mean, this story is inspired by songs. New songs will appear in other notes, but now my list (for Prologue and Chapter 1) is:
American Pie by Don McLean
Piano Man by Billy Joel
Still Loving You by The Scorpions
Somebody To Love by Jefferson Airplane
Read, listen, love, share, review, enjoy.
Yours faithfully,
M.