This song is a begrudged homage to Vince Guaraldi, the ghost who hovers over every pianist ever to casually play in a public space.
It's also a loving tribute to my childhood Christmases at Grandma's on Cortland Ave in Chicago. Christmas was always an urban event in my kid mind ... the whole family crammed into a tiny little apartment, with barely enough room to stand up. The TV always on, but no one's watching. And every year, there was some random guy sitting in the corner. It was a different guy every year, some recent arrival, but he never spoke any English, and he would always just smile weakly from underneath a stained white cowboy hat. I wonder where they are now.
The city : locus of eschatological vision, gathering of difference into reconciliation. catch a peek, enjoy the fun.
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