Edward had been taking self-portraits on an ancient polaroid, nicknamed 'Void'. The results were pasted onto a faded mirror that shifted perspective according to different views. He was awaiting her return. The warm keys turned the locks. 'Linda, you gotta hear this! There's still ferocious coffee in the pot'.
A symphony filled the four corners of their room. Propulsive, hunter beats anchored sonic overflow. 'Who is this?' she proclaimed. 'Owen Pallett, got it today'. 'He sounds half asleep' she remarked, tuning into his sneaking voice. 'Just wait, he's casual but sincere'. Plucked violins crept like cheerful field mice, lavas opened, Mount Alpentine rushed on discordance and atonalism. 'What's the libretto, his words are too buried in the mix'. 'A conceptual riff on an angry farmer. Who cares, let the music take hold of you' he answered. She chewed her nails and noticed a mood of rarified and well mannered exuberance that stood in stark contrast to the exhilaration of her favorite rock idols. She admired the stately arrangements, even if she couldn't totally share Edward's enthusiasm. 'Shimmies for Van Dyke Parks to shake Pina Coladas to' he grinned.
'I need a pee' she sighed. 'Wait, the best one is coming next' he replied with glee. 'Darn, what are we, an existential Beavis and Butthead?'. Holy mother of God. E Is For Estranged was unbelievably beautiful, tilting strings, eternally mysterious scripture, the way he weaved melody was a sad, sensual pleasure. An elegy to lost love. She held his bony frame in her arms. 'Okay, you have sold it to me'. As they danced slowly, a tender dawn awoke beneath the smoggy sky.
