The Vulture and the Violinist
A vulture was waiting for the subway and heard a violinist.
He lurched over and camped out expectantly, for the busking violinist was in bad shape.
The vulture loved it. The clothes were ragged, so his beak would be able to nibble without wrestling with fabric, the body was lean, sure, but musicians tend not to be wiry but soft and supple, as they rarely get any exercise.
In short, this was a meal to be savored, and the pre-dinner entertainment wasn’t too bad, either.
For some reason, though, the violinist wouldn’t keel over and the vulture got to listening to the music.
Sure enough – it must have been Bach’s suites for solo violin that did it – the vulture soon lost his fleshly appetite and yearned for more spiritual things. (I was a music major for a reason, after all.)
So the vulture went and brought the violinist some lunch.
“I can always come back later,” he said.