reality: 12 am in vienna. so quiet I forget I’m not in the capital of music. but wait: the cricket by the window, the soft hum of a rotating fan, the sound of running water through a bathroom door. I’m wearing a fancy dress studded with stars and I’m dancing in my mind to an imaginary waltz. rose-colored wine drying up in a bell glass. the magical, beautiful, summer kind of wonderful aria is still resonating in my ears, but I’m too tired to conduct the way the world sings tonight. I sink back in the couch, a faithful audience ‘til the end.