Static Orchestra
“Wow,” said Frank, as he picked up his piccolo. “Ever since they changed the currency from paper to music, I’ve really enjoyed my job.”
“Well,” replied Phil, “the migration should not have been a shock to anyone – it was common enough a few decades ago to refer to a dollar bill as a note.” He finished sanding the flute and handed the new instrument to Frank. “Ten dollar bills were ten-notes. You get the picture.” Doing a swift bit of calculation in his head, Phil pronounced, “That will be sixteen quarter-notes in 2/2 time, a nouveau mock-Bach symphony, and your trade-in.”
“Hmmm,” responded Frank, as handed over the various currencies and played the quarter notes. “I’m glad I practiced last week – these instrument upgrades are getting rather expensive!”
“Blame the economy, my friend,” said Phil, as he flipped the OPEN sign to CLOSED. “It used to be that a well-made flute would fetch a dozen recombinant operettas and would be enough to feed my family for a month. Now I am lucky to trade them for anywhere near their old worth.”
“I hope to see you tomorrow,” said Frank, as he walked through the door. Turning away, he commented “I still need to save up enough to feed Sarah. That and the dog should be about what I can afford this week.”
“I understand,” said Phil, as he waved good-bye. “I just hope the truck shows up tomorrow – without the right notes to craft the Stasis wood, my instrument supply has been suffering. That was my last note-worthy flute. Good Evening, Frank.”
“Night, Phil”
With the door shut, Phil proceeded to walk his aisles. He had always loved the haunting melodies that came from his minutely crafted wind-chimes. With the window cracked just right, and the Stasis-chimes placed in their respective racks, it was akin to being amidst a gigantic live orchestra.
It is times like this that I imagine myself a lone, thin man amidst a soothing glade – plants swaying to the tune of the music, and myself enraptured by the sound.
As the wind softly died down, he heard a muffled sound, as of a large beast subsumed, and his mind drifted to stories and ideas of the serene glade.
And the chimes played on.
“Well,” replied Phil, “the migration should not have been a shock to anyone – it was common enough a few decades ago to refer to a dollar bill as a note.” He finished sanding the flute and handed the new instrument to Frank. “Ten dollar bills were ten-notes. You get the picture.” Doing a swift bit of calculation in his head, Phil pronounced, “That will be sixteen quarter-notes in 2/2 time, a nouveau mock-Bach symphony, and your trade-in.”
“Hmmm,” responded Frank, as handed over the various currencies and played the quarter notes. “I’m glad I practiced last week – these instrument upgrades are getting rather expensive!”
“Blame the economy, my friend,” said Phil, as he flipped the OPEN sign to CLOSED. “It used to be that a well-made flute would fetch a dozen recombinant operettas and would be enough to feed my family for a month. Now I am lucky to trade them for anywhere near their old worth.”
“I hope to see you tomorrow,” said Frank, as he walked through the door. Turning away, he commented “I still need to save up enough to feed Sarah. That and the dog should be about what I can afford this week.”
“I understand,” said Phil, as he waved good-bye. “I just hope the truck shows up tomorrow – without the right notes to craft the Stasis wood, my instrument supply has been suffering. That was my last note-worthy flute. Good Evening, Frank.”
“Night, Phil”
With the door shut, Phil proceeded to walk his aisles. He had always loved the haunting melodies that came from his minutely crafted wind-chimes. With the window cracked just right, and the Stasis-chimes placed in their respective racks, it was akin to being amidst a gigantic live orchestra.
It is times like this that I imagine myself a lone, thin man amidst a soothing glade – plants swaying to the tune of the music, and myself enraptured by the sound.
As the wind softly died down, he heard a muffled sound, as of a large beast subsumed, and his mind drifted to stories and ideas of the serene glade.
And the chimes played on.
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