oh so piquant

I imagine you,

Sitting there, loose leaves of manuscript flung on the table;
Your furrowed eyebrows, head cocked to the side,
Blunt pencil in one hand, furiously scribbling down musical notes,
Cigarette in the other, from which you sneak puffs from, whilst making those notes dance between those thin black lines.

* * *

This is part biography, part fiction and part fantasy; such is my tendency to over-dramaticise.