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| William Merrit Chase, antiquarian shop. 1879. |
The Old Curiosity Shop was hidden in a dusty road at the crossroads between Vico de 'Poets and Piazzale forgotten. The number 7 melancholy hung hand-painted banner next decades and so worn by time that it was difficult to discern the letters. It was rare to see someone go. There enters into unknown streets and more dusty. You never know where they might lead and how long could steal.
the same time that had stopped between the clock pendulum that looked out sadly from the window. The interior of the shop picked up no one knows what strange artificial sunlight, filtering through the folds of the furniture, playing with his golden shadows dust. On the top shelf, a small wooden box watching the life that flowed out of the window. Closed loops in heavy coats directed at a fast pace somewhere. A cat-eyed frightened that he had probably lost. The rain that fell on thin glass.
The small box had an invoice value. It was a little gem built a few centuries before and perfectly preserved. The grain of the wood telling an ancient story that few people would have been able to decipher. The interior, upholstered in red velvet, had contained many secrets and a few locks of hair. In the double bottom was throbbing soul music of rare beauty.
seemed like a perfect box but it was not. The mechanism inside was faulty, the notes do not bend as they should. Sometimes jams, and sometimes remained mute ... but when they played there was nothing that can compare. Mingled yearning and passion in them, pain and neglect, a love without end.
That box was left watching the world from behind a glass and waited for his chance to play, to get to the heart of someone beyond his imperfect mechanism, his music was valuable and deserved to be heard.
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