Dear Little Boy who plays the Tuba on his porch across the street,
I love that the scales you play sound like a grumpy old man being startled awake. I love that you practice at 3 when it won’t really bother anyone. I love that you practice period. You inspire me and remind me that there’s no way you can’t get better at something if you do it every day. I will look for you in the marching band.
Your Neighbor at 831