not_found raze "so," she says. "you're a musician." not a question. a prompt. when i'm told what i'm supposed to be by someone i'm only meeting for the second time, i say, "in addition to other less savoury things." she smiles but doesn't laugh. "so," she says again a minute later. "you're a musician." "some of the time," i say. i keep waiting for her to fill the silence with something more. the conversation dies. she's busy trying to work out why three years of my life have gone missing from the database. and i won't strain to slip into an ensemble that doesn't fit me anymore so i can satisfy a stranger's feigned interest when their mind is somewhere else. "this happens sometimes," she says. don't i know it. 240427 what's it to you? who go blather from