The Tiny Tenor



It’s a dark night in Edinburgh city, the city is sparkling with lights.

On a bench, on the hill, overlooking the city a MAN sits singing to himself. He sings sweet and soft, with a touch of sadness inside. A cigarette is burning in his hand.

There are no onlookers. He is alone in the dark.

The city skyline seem peaceful this night, with a man singing to himself on the background.

Elsewhere, the feet of the STRANGER are slowly walking up the gravel path along the mountainside.

The step of the feet merge with the sound of the singing as the Stranger solemnly grinds on.

Sitting on his bench, the singing Man doesn’t seem to notice or regard the wandering Stranger.

He seems at peace as he sits there overlooking the city skyline from his bench on the hill. The Stranger walks by him in his steady pace. He passes the Man by, but his footsteps slow down as he trudges on.

His footsteps stops.

The Man on the bench keeps singing to himself, just a little more powerful now. He’s quite a passionate singer, not a Pavarotti or a Sinatra, but he sure puts emotion in his song.

He puts the cigarette in his mouth. Its dead. He tries to light it with his lighter but it doesn’t work. It’s suddenly silent…

The Man on the bench sighs sadly.

The Stranger walks back to the Man on the bench. They look up at each other in silence.

The Stranger produces a lighter and lights the cigarette of the Man. He puffs a puff of smoke, Thanks him politely. And carries on singing as the Stranger observes him for a while.

“No. Thank you.” Says the Stranger. And he moves on.


Rudolf J.B. Buirma –  © TheDandy Banterer – 11-11-2014

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