Stairwell

There’s a man singing in the stairwell.

She keeps her steps quiet as she climbs the stairs. She doesn’t want to startle, doesn’t want him to stop filling the space with his rich, melancholy notes. When she rounds the corner between the second and third floors, she spies him.

He faces the corner of the landing, wearing hat, rain coat and backpack. His eyes are closed until she is two steps away. He turns his head enough to see her coming, deep set eyes half open.

“You sound beautiful,” she says.

A smile touches his lips and he gives her the slightest of nods before he turns back to the corner and sings again.

His voice sounds like chanting.
Deep.
Resonant.
Holy.

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