(  [ private to self | unhackable ] )

[ and here is where the private lock accidentally breaks ]

I saw a man being dragged across the sidewalk by a wild animal. A few minutes later, while passing an apartment with an open window, I heard someone playing the piano. Scriabin's Andante Cantabile Étude from his 8th Opus. Vaguely fitting, if you were to set it against the earlier scene. Though the scene may have been too whimsical for the piece, or maybe the notes too whimsical for the scene.

It was horrible.

The finger technique were clumsy, and the notes were far too heavy and muddled. You could tell the player was bending at the fingertips, his palms collapsing under the weight of the chords. He didn't really know the notes, rather he rushed into playing it. The uncertainty hovering before each note was certainly a clue.

His notes were dead. Empty pieces of sound rather than one of Scriabin's colorful, emotive compositions-- he was said to have Synesthesia, actually. Certain colors would coordinate with different sound, such that one would have to wonder if playing the piano was like an acid trip for him.

The Patetico would have been more fitting for today.

[ooc: If you're curious, here's the Andante Cantabile (Étude Op. 8, No. 11) and the Patetico. (Étude Op. 8, No. 12) ♥! ]