Walking into the lobby for yet another lengthy stay in beautiful Hiroshima City. The throng of people chattering and milling around remind you of worker ants building a new home. With a resigned sigh you step up to take your place in the long line and await your turn to check in. Setting your bags on the floor you glance around the lobby.
The lilting sound of nimble fingers flying over ivory keys of a Grand Piano floats into the crowded space and you look for the source. The crowd parts just enough for you to see the entrance to another room, a brass sign above the doorway says "Piano Room". Deciding you can just as easily check in later you pick up your bags and move towards the room.
The low murmurs from the other travelers slowly fade away as the melody fills your ears. At first glance the room appears empty save for a single high backed chair set to face the windows atop a small but raised dias.
Sunlight pours through each pane of glass casting a luminous glow to the gilded chair where a bare foot swings idly from within the padded confines.
"Come no further," a feminine voice purrs commandingly from the sunbathed dias.
The music stops and the silence roars like a tidal wave in the unadorned room. Slowly. Silently. The platform rotates, sending blinding beams of sunlight ricocheting in every direction, every angle from the embellished "throne".
