Satisfaction

Sometimes, on a bleak January night, when there's nothing on the boyfriend horizon but various half-hearted flirtations -- the missing-half of heart being on your end -- and not much desire to dig deeper for something more until the heart craves unforced desire, it might be prudent to stay in a church after everyone else has left, find a Steinway, and absolutely beat the shit out of Bach's Goldberg Variation 5


for a couple hours, to the point where it almost sounds as good as this man's version, to where it provides a satisfaction that spooning sex vodka or even the world's smartest conversation cannot duplicate, to where you think maybe, in the end, it might be prudent to just marry a piano.