I make a point to avoid the city streets, sticking along the walls to avoid bumping into anyone. Even then, I have to take it extra careful, and only end up tripping a few times. Finally I find a good spot, a nice seat in a corner, out of the foot-traffic, but not too far from the general clamor of the marketplace. There, I begin to play.

Echoes of waves and engines and soft purrs run through my delicate fingers, as they dance and play across the even more delicate strings. It still doesn't feel quite right, I have to admit, but then maybe that's just how life goes: Things don't fit together so neatly, so cleanly. It takes a little work, and no matter how hard you try, things will always be just a little bit messy, but maybe, just maybe, that's not such a bad thing. If all of the pieces of our lives fit together too cleanly, we'd have no room left to grow, after all.

The song finishes and another begins. I'm not sure whether the mice around me applaud, express disappointment, or ignore me entirely. I'm too focused on my fingering to listen. Or perhaps I'm just too scared to listen. In the end, it hardly matters. They are just spectators, in more ways than one, welcome but ultimately unnecessary. It feels to me like there's a reason that operating a musical instrument is called 'playing', and it feels as though it should apply to all forms of art. Maybe all aspects of life in fact. In the end, it's a two player game: the artist and their art, or the worker and the work. Maybe just the liver and the life. And maybe it extends even beyond that, to all things and their own unconscious desires. Maybe the game is cooperative, or maybe it's competitive, or maybe, it's always just a little bit of both. In the end, despite the best efforts of either participant, despite the cheers and jeers of the audience, there are no winners and there are no losers. Or, again, maybe everyone is a winner. Or everyone is a loser. There is only the experience, and that's enough. As for the results, well, those ultimately only exist to feed into more experiences, don't they?

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There is only the feeling of the taught strings against my fingers, and the sense that one note will, invariably lead onto another, as it always has.

I suppose that the music will have to end, one of these days, as everything does. Maybe it even will today. All that I can say, however, is that it won't in the next five minutes, and for the first time in quite a while, I'm genuinely glad that's the case. I suppose that I can't even say that much for sure, to be honest, but what can I say? I'm feeling lucky. That might not sound like much, but it's enough, more than enough, and I'm determined to enjoy those five minutes the best that I can. As for what happens after that? Well, I suppose we'll just have to wait and see, won't we?