Street Corner Virtuoso
“He’s playing the Paganini Variations!”
I held my cell phone as close as possible, hoping Cindy could hear. When he finished, she begged, “Please, Mark, invite him again.” I handed him another home-cooked meal, wrapped in foil for warmth.
Every afternoon I came. Others strode by, deaf to the music. His ragged violin case held some silver, but little green. I added a fistful of bills, about what I had paid to hear Janine Jansen the night before.
“Debussy. Needs piano.”
“My wife plays. Please come to us.”
His first smile, but still a head shake.