what a difference a few hours makes; at around midday yesterday, Sunday, the gates to our local high school were open, so i took advantage of their outdoor handball courts to practice my tennis strokes; the experience was spoiled, though, as members of our town's local Hispanic gang had succeeded in spray painting their moronic slogans on the court walls, as well as on several adjacent buildings; the paint was fresh, so the deed was probably done the night before, or that very morning even; later in the afternoon, i returned to the high school, as a local symphony orchestra just happened to be performing in the school's auditorium; i got there in time for the second half of the program, Tchaikovsky's fifth symphony; one of the masterpieces of Western music; the conductor didn't even need a score, he knew the piece, all 45 minutes of it, by heart; after the rousing climax was arrived at, the crowd applauded for several minutes, and went home; but i still had a bad taste in my mouth, from what had happened earlier that day.
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