Day 257

A night at the symphony should be a pleasant affair, at worst. Certainly if one is attending while seated in their private box.
But had this patron known this would be the final sound he would hear, he might have spent less time ogling the second chair violinist, and more time enjoying Holst's 32nd Opus.
He may have even found some somber amusement at the irony he should die during a rendition of "Saturn, Bringer of Old Age.
I say may have, but my uncle rarely put that kind of thought into things.
More likely such an observation would have to be pointed out to him.
Probably by me.