My piano is gone.
And, I think
a little piece of me went with it.
Even though said piano sounded only slightly better than a harpsichord built of plywood.
Even though playing it with a "fine musician's touch" was next to impossible.
Even though it was a Falcone. ("What's a Falcone?" you ask. "Precisely." I answer.)
To its credit, it did look pretty. And it served me with all its might and muster for the first two years of its life (even if said might and muster amounted to that of a slightly squashed, overripe banana).
Yes, somehow, somehow, it successfully leeched onto my sentiments. And I therefore almost, almost, felt like I was betraying it when the movers took it out of my apartment today.
Good-bye, Mr. Falcone.
Hello, saving moolah.
[at least until September, at which time the HFAC shall once again become populated and I shall no longer (il)legally teach my students there]