ROSS AND THE OLD MAN (....continued)

Five blocks away from the centre of the neighbourhood stood an old house. It was built in an old-ranch style, in two storeys and a wooden staircase down the front. Although it was different from the surrounding modern houses, hardly anyone noticed the house and overlooked it while passing by.

The owner of the house rarely paid the outside world a visit.
Just adjacent to the house was a small broken down shack. The owner once in a while would descend from the house and slowly make his way towards the shack and enter it.
After several minutes, he would emerge from the shack with a dusty violin in his hands and enter the house and shut the door, locks clicking into place.

Then the music would start…
The slow, mourning music of the violin would overflow from the garden walls and spread through the sultry streets like the acrid smell of wild berries in a rose garden…
It would go on and on…and on and on…

The music was slow and sad. It was as if it had been wound up inside the violin for decades and now it was unwinding itself through the musician.
Then as suddenly as it had started, the music would stop…leaving echoes of its melancholy in the silence of the streets.

The owner of the house was a man named Al Jeter Mitch.

Al…was an old man.

(...to be continued)