Wendy Coomber

A Different Key

A Different Key

Walking home, taking the time to shout out something meaningless to a friend on the other side of the road, couldn’t stop the melody flying around in my head. The idea just sounded so good in my brain, sometimes with different variations, that I just “had” to work on it at home in dad’s studio after dinner. Mom’s hello followed by her telling me that her and dad were going out later on and wouldn’t be back till probably 2.30am or later, just made me more excited than ever.

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