A moment of absurdist thought at an Easter dinner
An organ stuck in a Manhattan elevator. Forever. Filling half the apartment’s elevator. The tenants occasionally touch a key, tentatively, except old and hobbling Mr. Thompson who lives up stairs and likes to pull out the stops and pound out Bach while he rides the organ up to his apartment. It’s a clumsy rendition but the echo in there’s pretty good and he plays loud enough to wake the cats from their sunny window sills, leaving the felines grumpily arch-backed for the rest of the day. No one remembers how it got in there and they half suspect the elevator was built around the upright monster. And even the uncle who is angry at his brother-in-law for not helping him move the thing and is egging towards a family fight is telling me he doesn’t know what happened but “It was just stuck: wouldn’t go in and wouldn’t come out.”
Maybe the whole thing is the missing piece to a mysterious murder or maybe to a strange Easter dinner I just had. It’s hard to say. But it was pretty funny at the time.