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Mc Dermot

Copyright J Nixon
Copyright J Nixon

The old time music hall was dying, it smelt wrong, its floor boards no longer tacky with beer, walls that no longer echoed to music. I looked across at Jenson Mc Dermot and wondered, why did he not care. A multitude of acts that had performed here over the last a hundred years. Why the building shouted history and laughter, even the piano, with its worn keys. Dripping with blood, where the hell was Mc Dermot. Now the building vibrates with the sound from music hall acts, how I love that piano, and it’s blood red keys.

This Post Has 31 Comments
  1. Dear Michael,

    It sounds like something awful just happened in the music hall. I have to wonder what. At one point the narrator is looking at McDermot and then a couple of sentences later he’s asking where McDermot is.

    Shalom,

    Rochelle

    1. I am glad that you liked the idea, the photo offers so many possible outcomes. If I was to start again I would write about designing a piece of art for the Tate Modern. Sorry about the punctuation it never was one of my strong points. Mike

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