The room was a disaster.
A bomb blast at a publishing house wouldn’t have left such a mess. Bits of sheet music were everywhere. A guitar was thrown in a corner. A light beat the tempo on a drum machine.
Max was draped over a computer screen. The colorful lines of a Cubase score filled the other screen.
“I hope this week locked away in your music room has gotten this midlife crisis out of your system so you can return to work.”
Max turned to me. “With over a million Youtube hits in the last hour, I’m at work.”
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