The defeat wore on his expression like the heavy kabuki mask of tragedy; it was the real deal, dreams shattered, hopes blown. It was like glitter being tapped off of construction paper--fleeting, untidy, artistically despondent. We can surmise that he was disappointed by not being able to hear his music, but would pull through like a champ.
"Music is a deep endeavor. Admirable. In the same way that scent can alter the senses with memory, music can alter the mood by being simply well put together. Of course, this has to do with some low frequency noise as well, which can affect certain functions of the brain supposedly." Oh, right, he might need to explain how he knew all that stuff. "I recently read a book about life after death." Admitted he, clearing his throat. A man not comfortable with the subject of mortality. "More so about the scientific study of it. No nonsense voodoo shit."