He sits and takes a sumptuous sip of his Guatemalan caffeine, this is his beautiful city, and in this his wistful instance he will need to be plain outright brilliant.

For it breathes all sorts of cacophony heroes, namely madcap musicians who carry with them an alarming degree of skill just no true gusto.

Free to play about with his fledgling time and to break many a transatlantic bound curtailed by tragically over-analytical borders.

Intertwined in aforementioned brilliance he simply glistens, soliloquy blessed amidst these peripheral people.

They will speak of him, no two ways
The String Quartet Café where he more oft than not resides, holds no real heady assumptions but for their customers to create a watchful, eagle-eyed audience.

Most of them see a manic and misshapenly awry mathematical equation
Panic-stricken, mishandled and disrupted of a magical answer… by unsettled fingers.

Wishful thinking.

These five strings, begging to be realised, do not take too easily to these people and their utter failure to make sense of it all.

The un-orchestrated fall.

Whilst back over upon, he smirks and smiles, sets marvellous motion scintillated alive all over again.

When one whole city pin-pricks it’s ears and (begrudgingly) listens.