Meeks was reading a book next to the lake, he wasn’t doing nothing special, —well, for him, reading is special—, just enjoying the lasts sunshine of the day. His glasses falling to the tip of his nose, his fingertips caressing the touch of the paper, his favorite feeling. Unconsciously, he usually mouthed what he was reading. “His fingers caressed the piano tiles…” he mumbles, reading the words of his book.