His clear lyric voice floated effortlessly on the evening air. Marcus liked it out here in the gardens, away from the ebb and flow of the classroom. This was his classroom, this was where he was at his most clear-headed and creative. Frequently a bar ahead of him, Janie had already adjusted the chord at the end of the first phrase to lend a more contemplative air to the opening theme.
Marcus was struggling with a direction, being unable to come to grips with the drudgery of mathematics and the rote learning of chemistry, music was the one element in his life that captured his imagination. However, even this held a sting in the tail. He abhorred the restraints and compromises demanded of group music, and was debased by the inanity of gigs like Poetry Slams.
It was here, amongst quavers and crotchets and time signatures, that his soul soared.