kenjari | The musicians upstairs (Reply)

For the last couple of years, my upstairs neighbor has been a man I dubbed "guitar guy. He was, of course a guitarist. He played mostly jazz and classical, and he was very good. I could hear him through the ceiling. He spent hours playing and practicing, sometimes until 11 or so at night. And he'd start pretty early on weekends. But I didn't mind, because he was so good (I'm sure all that time spent with the guitar was why he was so good). In fact, it was sometimes quite nice to drift off to sleep listening to jazz guitar playing softly above my head. And there were a couple evenings during which he was working on more up-tempo stuff, and he was really on fire. I never met him, or even knew his name, but sometimes I felt like I did know him, because I was privy to so much of his music-making.
Guitar guy moved out last month. And I missed him. The unseen upstairs was too quiet.
It has now become clear, however, that guitar guy has been replaced by another musician. I've started to call her piano chick. I know she's a woman, because I heard her yell "damn" while practicing today. Yup, there's another piano above my head. Piano chick is, like guitar guy, very good. And like guitar guy, it's because she spends a lot of time with her instrument. I think she practiced for about six hours today. I don't mind, though. Although I am tempted to go up there and see what kind of piano she has, and what pieces she's working on.