He turned to me with an enormous smile. “Want one, boy?”
“No, sir. I don’t have any money.” “I could tell.”
He picked up his bag and strolled a little further down the street, shouting, “The waltzes ‘Pardon’, ‘Smoking, I Wait’ and ‘Bye-bye Boys’.”
“The tangos that are even more popular than ‘Night of Kings’. In the city, everyone’s singing ‘Heavenly Light’.”
“It’s a beauty. Listen to the lyrics!” And he sang: “The light in your eyes is heavenly. I do believe that I can see...”
“The glow of stars in constellations. Your eyes a well of temptations.”
“Stare into my eyes and see. What moonlit love has done to me. And just how wretched love can be...”
He made a few more announcements, sold a few more brochures and noticed me again.
He stopped and beckoned me over with a finger. “C’mere, finch.”
I obeyed, smiling. “Are you going to stop following me or not?”
“No, sir. Nobody in the world sings as beautifully as you.”
He was flattered and a little disarmed. I was getting somewhere.
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