The Moon-Mender
I play the piano now in a small club in Chicago. The people who come in are not the same people who used to fill the Harlem basements. The dresses are different. The drinks are different. The world is different. But sometimes, when I play a certain chord — a minor seventh with the fifth flattened, played slowly, like a question asked to an empty room — I remember the stars. Not the ones you see...
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