Saturday Night

Alone in his living room, isolated from the city like in a fish bowl the man is sitting on a chair that is from a limited edition, plunged into books - he may not have read since a while - while savouring his aesthetic solitude, and devouring music coming out of a vintage gramophone that he gets to work once every five times next to a music instrument for which he estimates a certain ambition if time and talent allow. Maybe it's a Saturday night, maybe it's a Monday night, who cares as the pyjamas are the new suit.