"... Until we saturate the time and the times, so that men and women of all races, the coming ages can show brothers and lovers like us".
- [Whitman- 'To Him, that was Crucified']
This is the narration of a soloist and a soprano, however, the title as a soloist. The soprano was my cousin. The soloist was my neighbor. We three grew up together. In summary, this is a mishaps account. And, in addition, some penalties, a story that is the reference of a visit worthy of mention. This is my preamble. You can skip the introduction if you need it. I am simply following the custom of extraordinary creators like Shakespeare to tell the ending briefly at the beginning. Despite the fact that his style is to divulge it discreetly. Although I am not an incredible ace, I can revel in the most humble way the end of things, that the soloist no longer exists. Only the soprano and I, the living individuals to the experiences of the soloist of whom this story bears the name. He found a crossing in a Scandinavian city while driving his car, a street accident that many people said, but some others told me after several years that he already had high blood pressure problems for which he had been taking medication, and on a particular day of his death, his blood pressure levels soared and he died in the car on a busy street, and was later hit by a vehicle, which in fact was not exactly the reason for his death. Anyway, the result is that he no longer exists and he was a great musician and his timbre and rhythm were nice and he was a student of Brahms, Tchaikovsky, Mozart and Gustav Mahler, and some of his musical notes are in some diaries that he kept in private and a local university is investigating the issue. And the night before it expires,
When I met the soloist for the last time on a railway platform in an eastern city, he accidentally summoned Tagore: live a simple life, think on high. This was often the appointment that my dad told me in childhood when values were considered more important than mundane achievements. When the soloist told me about this quote from the poet, he surprised me in the sense that he had practically forgotten it in the last twenty-five years. My friends and company were in such a way that dresses and accessories are more important than anything else. Once the board met, my wife told me, you must dress well, otherwise, nobody will listen to you. In this sense, I did an experiment for a full year to change my outfits in the most modern way and present myself in the cardinal places. In fact,
- [From a work of fiction called 'Soloist' that is in progress]
