El Músico

It has been frequent if not very constant that I get a coffee with milk and chocolate croissant for breakfast. For semi early mornings where i have all day to play in the streets of madrid I find myself sitting at this little cafe on the corner across the street of my apartment for my usual. At times my roommates join for the deliciousness of baked goods the cafe produces but usually its a one man deal. During my solitude times I take the time to reflect and remember experiences that have happen in my stay. The way the wind blows through the close street and the cool tempreature that seems to linger only till around 12 only intensefies the plunge into my subconsciousness. It wasnt until this morning where I was having coffee with a roommate that I realized my preference to the place. The man with the according, the moving bellows, the pressing of the keys, and the constant feeling this man produces in tonality in his instrument strikes a key in feeling made me realize my draw to the place. There has been no narrative in this experience where we both communicate with sounds that come out of our mouths but there has been communication where he plays his tool and I listen. This man sits all day and all night playing to make ends end. The centimos and eruos he recieves by passerby's is his income. Playing to live is what seems to be all he has. What all he has to offer has me coming back.