Walter Mitty Music -

He reached up and slowly pulled the earbud out.

The world fractured .

In the elevator, the walls shimmered like a vibraphone. When the doors opened, he wasn’t on the 7th floor. He was on a rain-slicked rooftop in Buenos Aires, a fedora on his head, a trumpet in his hand. He played a solo that made the moon flicker. walter mitty music

One Tuesday, a courier delivered a small, battered violin case to his desk. No note. No return address. Inside, nestled on faded velvet, was a single earbud. Not a pair. One. It looked antique, brass, with a cracked mother-of-pearl inlay. On a whim, Walter slipped it into his right ear. He reached up and slowly pulled the earbud out

Mr. Crowley loomed. “The Benford file, Mitty. It’s 5:01.” a fedora on his head