maybe bread alone is enough

Here's a statue of staggering heartbreak, clearly a kind of love triangle that has unglued the male lead in the statue. And in the corner there sits a man who looks like he is waiting for his wife to return from the restroom so he can go to lunch. Hey, I'm not blaming him. We ate lunch at the Art Institute of Chicago as well. And I'm fairly confident we spoke more about our food (pretty good, not great) than the art we had seen (great but not great enough to remove our hunger). Even the most moving art typically grips us for ridiculously brief periods of time.

Except music, at least for me. I can be peeling potatoes or clipping my toenails or reading the paper, and if the right music comes on (and an enormous amount music for me counts as "right") I can be undone, or at least pushed deeply and instantly into a deep reverie. I can also hear the same song time and again and not grow tired of it. And I do, much to the chagrin of those around me. They think something is wrong with my wiring, I suspect. Could be, could be.