so how did they get all these pianos up those stairs. different in those days, fresh rain across my face out in the dark lit street. quiet someone waiting for me. no one sitting to the right seat near the door waiting in the corridor, past the bungalow to the cathedral to hear the concert. many times passed the same place. interrupted by the plane journey could breath little outside inside seat too scary to look out of the window fine day nonetheless. lindy said. but why did it seem like a nightmare when you needed to return risky? risky rain on my face on that sunny day look up to the hill and buildings sore hands palms stretch over stretch no warm up in those times no yoga breath just play and more play do go on. like your trills shoulders down. so there was a certain glamour about things in shops. shops lined streets and dark streets leading to where you needed to go. dark station-quiet standing sitting stand sit opposite freezing cold frost fog in stately progression along quiet road wide road solitariness. quiet. dark. dots of light clamour cold, pianos this way that way sun felt small. at first i thought it was all go but it stopped and and find a piano and and 4.33 only i did not. it. where was it all over? underscore did not then. i ran down the wide victorian stairs joyously listening rushing racing. was i up to that?