I admire a man who gives life to the ephemeral underground. With your fingers change the air in the world, transforming it into a suggestive tune, catchy.
Young, scruffy, passionate. We hear that, If you pay attention, the pins of the instrument being pressed. Small metal devices that alter what we perceive through talent and surrendered soul. A shadow, committed to enhance the reality through the grey and underground platforms. Where the crowd resembles blood torrents of one higher organism.
Some passersby pay attention, recreating emotions before these tickle the mind. Rhythms of jazz, that it inspires even more different types of lives, So what, to a greater or lesser extent, change the direction of their destinations.
Can we only fleeting dreamers, at the mercy of anonymous batons?Or they will be remnants of hope everywhere?