I wouldn’t know if the band missed a note, but I do today; the fussy conductor sounds a whistle at every tiny errant noise, a signal for the band to run.

And they do; they take one fast, silent lap of the park’s vacant fountain, then assemble and try again until harmony arrives.

I want to tell the band’s leader, we have been strolling to sweet song for well over an hour now, save for his intermittent interferences, a sort of static over our airwaves.

And then I remember Spanish class and how I wish for a patient teacher to correct my missed notes, to slowly assemble melody.

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