He remembers a memory, but it cannot be his, of practicing piano in the summer, while a lawnmower moaned in the distance, and some luckier boy than him was playing outside. A sharp scent of grass freshly-cut drifts in through the open door. It mingles with the stale smell of a dusty living room curtain. He loved the way the outside crept in to change the effects of the inside, and the smell of the house in the summer, especially at night, after it was shut closed again, filled him with  a cozy thrill.
A choice of two, for there is always a choice. And which will you choose? Fate and destiny, unfolding like the Chopin, or the random girl reunited with a one-night-stand? Beneath an almost-full pink moon, and the same starry sky…
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