Through the stiff rhythms and the sprinkling of wrong notes, the tune stood out. It wasn’t quite right, but it was very recognizable.
But then that last chord, F-A-B, instead of F-A-C, wrong out in all of its wrongness.
Timmy slammed his fists down on the keyboard.
“I hate playing the piano! I’m no good and never will be! I hate it!”
He scrunched over, his arms crossed, his lemon-kissed face showing its displeasure.
Mt. Roberts shook his head.
Continue reading at Trent’s World