He’d played in the same hotel for 52 years. His fingers ached and he was slow. His shabby tuxedo knew all his melodies by heart. He looked at the staves though could hardly see. The scarce customers looked at each other whenever he played a wrong note on the piano.
La imagen capta bien. El pianista inmerso en su etílica campana de cristal del aislamiento. Lo que hace no le importa a nadie, simplemente es ruido de fondo o excusa para la hilaridad.
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