“It’s sad you can’t play publicly. Why can’t Max Hilton play? You could pull out that Ligeti,” I say. Ligeti is a Hungarian composer whose etudes are among the most terrifying works for the piano. They’re beautiful, but in a hard way. “Or Schoenberg? Max is remote and super cool. Not a man who skips through the park. I could see your persona whipping that out.” “I told you, I don’t play those songs anymore,” he says simply. “Only tunes that people would hum, now.” “Really.” “Remember how you said I attacked the keyboard like Terminator?” “I’m sorry,” I say. “No. Don’t be sorry. You were right.
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