Yesterday, on my way home, I went into a bar-restaurant I'd never been into before. There was a goat above the door, and I'd spotted a piano inside. I asked if I could play it and the woman asked what I play. I said "Richtung jazz", or something similar. Her name is Dunya and mine is Phil.
Dunya said they do have a beautiful piano stool, but for now I sat on one of the wooden chairs. It was a Friday afternoon and people were out in the garden. It was the warmest day of the year so far. It's the kind of place where everyone seems to work there. Familial.
I gave a fifty minute concert in two halves. They poured me a drink in the middle. Dunya asked how I found them. I said I just walked past. She smiled and said, "That's how I want it."
I left. I wanted to write to tell you that I felt so happy where I was, doing this. With you there it would have been even better, but it wouldn't have been, also.
One small fresh Bier, free.
Blossom and scaffolding,
Blüte, Gerüst,
Berlin in spring.
The man working there said they've been closed for a year and are just opening again. The place was gradually filling up. There are plenty of wrong notes and I ask you to ignore them. They said I can come back whenever I want.
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