Two on a bench at Madeline Park, were watching an older heavyset balding man make his way into the alley where college kids rent rooms. One on the bench was saying about his wandering eye, “Yes, isn’t that the composition teacher?”
“Yes, he had an illness too”.
The composition teacher carried a leather beat up bag with one eye set on fall leaves and the other at the sprinkle of rain falling like waltzes. It may have been searching the stars to chart Spica too. In any case, he had borrowed some music from a student and was casually on his way to return it.
The two on the bench watched as the composition teacher took a moment to finish his cigarette, turning and turning his large body on the wet pavement as easy as fingers at the keys. Then the old composition teacher disappeared where college students live.