I went to visit E at the hospital. She seems to be doing OK, and the doctors seem disinclined to think that whatever is wrong is something super grim, like brain cancer. They're leaning toward autoimmune or clotting disorder.
On my way out I stumbled across a guy singing with small orchestra on the concourse level, music floating up the stairs.
Easy Like Sunday Morning and Someone Like You wrapped around me and dragged me into an melancholy, unsettled place. I'm not the only crying.
I'm not leaving 'till the last note fades.