On the tube last year, very late, going home. And sat near a bloke carrying his cello, a huge white case that threatened to topple over every time the train brakes lurched on.
The cello case gets centre stage here, it was brilliant. Undeniably present. A fat, solid ghost.
Like how the bloke is looking sideways at me, he knew I was sketching, but did he know he wasn't the subject ? Like his cowlick of hair as well. But the cello is the star.
Oh no, the word cello has gone weird in my head, no matter how I spell it, it doesn't look right.
Cello. Cello. Cello.
No. Lost it.