[Charles Lacoste, “La main d’ombre”]
All at once, in a gesture that made me imagine him chopping at something with a blade, he banged his drink down on the table and aggressively looked me straight in the eye. “Where is music?” he demanded.
I tried not to look too sheepish. “What do you mean? It’s in performance, and if it’s written down, it’s on paper. …