Three years ago, my Yamaha Portasound finally gave up its digital ghost.
I unscrewed the casing and tried cleaning up its insides. It was no use.
The wear and tear of constant travel, power spikes and kids’ food spills must have overwhelmed the electronic piano’s will to survive.
I packed it up and gave it to Sophie, who said she knew someone who could recondition it.
Later, she made it work again and donated it to a special children’s school.
Sophie’s dream is to set up and run her own school for kids with special needs.
Meanwhile, settling back into my adopted city, I found the mall’s music stores safe sanctuaries to ease my hunger for piano sound.
Irresistible musical brothels to arouse my musical libido.
I can’t help it.
I’m a man overflowing with lust.
Then I discovered that I could have more time and privacy for quick afternoon delights at my son’s music school, while waiting to pick him up.
Occasionally, I would sneak into a vacant piano room and do a quickie romance with the ivory keys.
There I could improvise, without becoming self-conscious at onlookers ogling my pretty hands like at the mall.
This instant video was taken early last year.
I was clearly nervous, and stumbled on the keys a number of times.
Aside from this, you’ll probably notice some nice disturbing things.
The ugly marks on my right hand, for instance.
Hmm. Self-inflicted cuts? Old scars acquired in battle? Birthmarks?
Hmmm.
And there are other curious things you can see or hear in the video.
Let’s see you point them out and what they mean.
I know you wanna satisfy your curiosity.
Indulge yourself.
Let's just hope you don't get hot and bothered with dirty thoughts about my musical brothel...
