Fiddler

Every Thursday evening a lonely fiddler walks along the Niloufar Avenue, turns into the Ninth Alley and then into our street. All along his route, he plays the fiddle, a sad, nostalgic tune that reminds me of Greece, and of lost love. He stops by the small park square facing a building on the other side and keeps on playing, even if nobody comes down to give him money. He plays on and on, until a moment he only knows and puts down his bow for a bit. As he walks off, his song of a cruel heart starts again: life must carry on.