Pocket Symphony

At the bus stop, I see a man reading a book filled with musical notes. I wonder what goes through his head as he flips the pages. What minors and sharps does he breathe? I like the taste of words rolling off my tongue; perhaps he likes the sounds of black keys on white paper, enlarged into a romantic vision of pain and beauty that fills the core of one's being, all at once in the middle of a busy street. A cello, a piano, a violin, a book as an instrument, accompanied by, or excluding itself from, the rush of city tunes.