Which composer likes tea the most? Chai-kovsky.

2. smells like treble

"I had to get rid of everything unnecessary...in order to save myself." 

― Arvo Pärt

Eddy walked quickly from the coffee place. He had been stalling. He really shouldn't have gotten caffeine, it made him jittery, but the name of the store had been so silly he couldn't help but peek inside. Rimsky-Korsakoffee?! Not his favorite composer, but definitely a solid pun. He was hoping he'd walk in to tones of some of his most famous compositions, like Sheherazade, or, god forbid, Flight of the Bumblebee, but was disappointed to notice that he couldn't hear any café music over the sound of all the customers. There had to be at least 20 of them, and there was only one barista, a determined look on his face, taking and finishing orders as quick as they came in. Eddy didn't mean to stay for as long as he did, but there was something mesmerizing about the way this barista moved, his attention flitting from one thing to another, never quite focused. His hair was growing messier by the customer, as he flipped and pulled at it in occasional frustration. Eddy was caught in the frantic flow of it, and before he knew it, he was at the front of the line.

"What'll it be?" asked the barista, peering at him with tired eyes through large round glasses. He was just finishing ringing another customer up, and had moved on to steam milk for the next one. Those glasses looked cute on him, thought Eddy. Made him look like Shostakovich. Then he realized he had been just staring.

"I'll take a flat white please", he asked, and immediately regretted it. Of course the most Australian drink was the first thing to pop into his head. But a flat white?! He was not a fan. The shop had emptied out for the most part by then, but it was clear that the flustered barista hadn't noticed. Eddy felt a pang of sympathy for him. For the past few years, Eddy has felt as though he's constantly going. Constantly competing, constantly practicing, constantly performing, constantly trying to get better- and constantly not getting much better. He was just about holding on, but the dam could burst at any second, and the only way Eddy could think to prevent that was to work even harder. He barely had time for things he enjoyed anymore, and the things he used to enjoy no longer made him feel...well, anything. 

A woman walked in the store then, her dark eyes judgmentally passing over the space. She walked briskly to the back, purposefully ignore her coworker when he called out to her. Eddy saw the baristas features harden, and smelled the burning of milk a second before the barista pulled his hand away in pain. Slow down, Eddy wanted to say. You can have all the time you need.

Of course, Eddy himself didn't have much time. Walking briskly down the street, he looked at his watch, realizing that this detour had put him off his schedule by a half hour – a full half hour! He'd have to cut the Galamian out of his scale routines and just stick with the Flesch today. Darn it. This wasn't ideal. He shouldn't be distracted so easily. If he didn't win this competition, he may not be able to stay in Sydney, where all the work was. He had to keep his head down. He had to.

He climbed some city steps, and imagined what the barista's violin playing sounded like. Dark round glasses and the smooth sound of arpeggios filled his thoughts-- beckoning and mischievous.