Romantic loftyheaded youth, squirrel stories, music

All the stores were closed and we were getting hungry.

“Put some music on at least,” you told me.

“All we have is Shosty’s tenth,” I answered.

“String quartet or symphony?” you rightly asked.

I responded: “Does it matter?”

“No it doesn’t,” you admitted.

Shosty’s sonorities were squirming, bouncing, and jinking through the foggy ethereals between Leningrad in …