Candid Drummer
A man with a mask, like a mexican wrestler, is walking around and playing his single drum. He is otherwise dressed in a tuxedo, striped pants and clean, black, shiny shoes. His drumming is not particularly structured, or rhythmic. It’s sort of random, or trivial, like pieces of conversation, just barely catching your attention.
Everywhere he goes people fail to notice him. It’s because he is the Candid Drummer. Sometimes he pauses his drumming, halts his step and just stand there, contemplating. Then he moves on.
He ends up in a women’s shower, at a gym or a public swimming hall. He’s playing his drum in a corner while naked women stroll by, drying themselves with towels and whispering, putting on stockings, being unaware.
One woman suddenly notice the man. There is a stir. They all comment his presence loudly, and it’s not because he’s a man in a room full of naked women. It’s because he’s the Candid Drummer.
this story came from a glimpse ° no thoughts
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