my very blind violin player

Account of an irrational infatuation followed by a very irrational broken heart

We went to see an unknown – to us that is – musician and we planned not to stay all that long. We had to catch some trains or busses, because we weren’t dressed for a cold night, we were barefoot and our feet were bleeding. Walking home was not an option. And then he arrived, my very blind violin player. He played, and he shook his little eyeless head as if it were made of rubber bands. When he talked he laughed at what he said. And we laughed because he laughed. And he played, and when a mobile phone in the audience started ringing he played along with the silly ringtone, just long enough for everyone to hear and to laugh at his spontaneity, just short enough for everyone to be ashamed that we laughed for did we hear what we hear? And he played, and our trains and busses left, but we didn’t. And he played ‘til morning, when all the trains and busses exploded along with the rest of the world, but we stayed and he played.