Which composer likes tea the most? Chai-kovsky.

1. i'll take a flat white, please

It ain't necessarily so

It ain't necessarily so

The things that you're liable

To read in the Bible

It ain't necessarily so

-  George Gershwin

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Brett always tried to keep a low profile at work, although he rarely succeeded. On his first day at Rimsky-Korsakoffee, Marta put Brett on the cash register, and quickly learned not to put him there again. She reassigned him to the back in the middle of the shift, after seeing him take a full two minutes to count a customers change, and he was grateful for the switch. He could listen to his music and mentally practice if he was working in the back – restocking and cleaning became ritualistic for him. Until recently, when they learned he had a knack with the espresso machine. Unluckily for him, no one else could whip out flat whites with the speed and ease that he could. Sometimes, after rush hour, he would wipe his forehead and roll his eyes. All those scales, all those hours practicing coordination, for this.

Musically, he was between jobs, and was prepping for an international competition. When he wasn't working at the coffee shop, he was practicing. The competition was in weeks, and he was feeling a bit ungrounded, although he couldn't put a finger on why. His music sounded nice, but it wasn't speaking to him. Listening to hours of recordings of the piece played by absolute masters, lessons with old teachers, and practice performances with friends couldn't shake this feeling loose. And it was coming across in the music as well. He was trying everything he could, but today was one of those days where everything was going wrong.

He woke up before dawn and started with left hand articulation, concentrating on the tips of his fingers hitting the string and sounding the note. When the sun began hitting him in the eyes, he knew it was time to put away his instrument and head to work. When he arrived, it became clear that whoever was on last night didn't clean up anything. Brett sighed, and got to work, feeling as though he was dragging his limbs through muck.  Marta arrived late, after the morning rush got started, and immediately started grumbling that the pastries hadn't been set up properly.

"Can you help me run the till?" Brett asked, steaming some milk. Marta passed through to the kitchen, pretending she couldn't hear. Brett narrowed his eyes, but didn't say anything. The milk pitcher singed his hand. Fuck, he wasn't paying attention, and now he'd burnt it. "Sorry about that", he addressed the customer, a smart looking Asian man about his age. He poured the burnt milk down the drain and started again. "It'll just be another minute."

"No worries, mate", said the customer, "take your time. I think I'm the end of your rush." Brett looked around, and oh my god thank gooooood. This dude was the last dude in that never ending line and Brett was so relieved. He smiled back at the customer, whose large glasses flickered in the morning sun. Brett noticed he was carrying a violin case on his back, and a large bag that said 'Sheet Music Inside'. Ah, a fellow musician. No wonder he's chill. Feeling a bit lighter, Brett smiled to himself.

"Cheers, mate", he said, handing his masterpiece to the customer. There was a perfect treble clef in the foam of the steamed milk.

"Noice, thanks", he responded, "you even got the clef right!"

"I play violin too, that's all"

"Ah makes sense." The customer took a tentative sniff, and then sip of the coffee. Brett, happy to talk about music at any time for any length of time, did not notice.

"Plus, bass clefs are harder. I don't know how to draw dots. And who cares about alto clefs really? I'm not a violist."

"Brett!", Marta emerged from the back, "I need you to sweep up in the kitchen. Sir, I'll take you at the register."

Well, shit. Brett hadn't been able to clean up everything before the morning rush, and he'd really been hoping that Marta wouldn't notice. He sighed, and looked back at the stranger, who surprisingly, was still standing in front of him, a small smile on his lips.

"If you were a violist I wouldn't trust you to make me coffee" he joked, stretching out his free hand, "I'm Eddy by the way. This is really good."

"Thanks, bro. Come back for more anytime, I'm here in the mornings most days" unfortunately for me, he continued in his head.

Brett sauntered to the back to get the broom, feeling a lightness in his step that hadn't been there before. The glissing melody of It Ain't Necessarily So echoed in his head - the cleanness and buzz of Heifitz's bow pulled the broom across the floor. Maybe he'd be able to play that passage later today. Just maybe.