by Choclo the Man
Johann scribbled a few symbols on the paper: “C, D, F...” he muttered. Only a few more bars and he could die in peace. This was the work of his life.
He knew nobody would play it, ‘old-fashioned’ they called him. His wife walked in.
She had always admired him.
Fuck it let’s go dancing.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Fugue
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