p n o

After work, it’s become a happy routine of mine to rest my sit bones on a hefty grey tub from the container store and fill my apartment with the sounds of my weighted keyboard.  I have no kitchen chairs nor piano bench, but I’ve got ten dexterous fingers and an absurd amount of Chopin to dig through. Though I’m far from where I’d like to be, the habit of playing for at least a half an hour a day has already pushed me in a direction I’m comfortable with. Those 88 keys are always on my mind. I imagine Chilly Gonzales here feels the same way.


[via raneytown]

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