Skip to content

Newsom

The bus station’s dusty and so is the old man sitting in it. He actually has dust on him. Newsom tries not to stare, looking instead for a place to set his bag.

There’s an inexplicable piano on one wall; it, too, is dusty, but the key cover’s open. After ten minutes of wall-watching, Newsom gives in and plonks a key.

It’s out of tune–he knows that immediately. He draws back, but an old crow-voice says “Play somethin’.”

“I don’t know–”

“It does.”

Newsom hesitantly tries a chord, which is when he realizes it is in tune. With itself.