As the old conductor lay there in an oxygen tent, tubes sustaining his last afternoon, Roderick arrived and leaned over the bed. The old man was pleased to see him, “I’m sorry I’m leaving” said the old man, “when I’m in heaven I’m going to miss the way you play”.
Roderick touched his arm gently, “If that’s how you feel then why did you cut my solos so often”?
The old man sighed, struggled to breathe. “I love a lot of what you do but you also play much that is flowery and too ornate, can you handle the truth Roddy?”
“You have any last words for me?”
“Ya, there is no heaven”.