““Piano At 66 Sandringham Crescent an upright piano was being eased down a long flight of stairs by three men all wearing off-white overalls. Backward, staccato, two stepped descending one stair at a time till the taller of the two men began to collapse in slow slow slow motion and the piano leapt to the hallway's rising floor crashing its memories of music: simple tunes such as 3 Blind Mice, as well as great meaningful sonatas of profundity and faraway, into a scattered anarchic jigsaw of free-loving volatile meaningless sounds fading till the stricken piano lost its memory entirely. After the ambulance arrived (too late) one removal man lit a cigarette and sensing the wide-awake stare of the householder tapped the grey ash, with great delicacy, into the cupped hollow of his left hand.””
