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October 3, 2009

I was on the train this morning. A trumpet case was sitting forlornly on a seat. It was well loved brown, fraying at the corners, covered in stickers from all across the globe. It made me quite sad. Who would leave this beautiful tool, instrument of the angels alone to travel endless underground. I considered liberating the trumpet from its cage, presenting it to the world once again, but the sight of this lonely creature cemented my bones with depression, to the point that movement was impossible.

But the worst thing?

The forgotten trumpet was better travelled than I was.