Winslow was playing the opening song to his conceptual opera, Faust on the piano. He was amazing, clearly dedicated to musical craft. His voice was that of an Angel’s. His fingers moved with such precision.

“I was not myself last night. Couldn't set things right with apologies or flowers. Out of place as a cryin' clown who could only frown and the play went on for hours. And as I lived my role, I swore I'd sell my soul for...”