She recognized the chords from the orchestra pit. It had that strong beat, the "sound of fate knocking on the door," as one critic had put it. An aged-man was conducting the Fifth Symphony. His scraggly gray hairs subtly concealed a growing bald patch on the back of his head. He was losing his hair, but his wisdom carried. He would never lose his gift of music.
In such a fast-paced city, she found reassurance in the empty music hall. She'd often come and watch the orchestra practice during her lunch hour, while nibbling on a sandwich. Here among the empty chairs, invisible clappers to her left and right, she closed her eyes. Ever so often the conductor would turn to her, smile and wave her onstage. And for a few moments of her hectic life, she gave in to passion.
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