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"Old Paths, New Routes"

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I've returned to London. For how long? Only time will tell, but it shouldn't be for too long. The gray still lingers, the pubs still serve warm beer, and the taxi drivers still swear they know shortcuts better than the GPS. But there’s comfort in that— the world changes, and I change with it, but there are still things, no matter how small or insignificant, that make us feel at home, even when we’re no longer quite the same.

I came from Rio a few days ago. There, I left the jazz echoing through the club's halls and the sea breeze sticking to my clothes, like the verses I never wrote. Over there, everything keeps going— the music plays, the glasses clink, and the business... well, the business now demands more from me than the stages. In fact, it's not something new; I can’t even remember the last time I picked up Bertha, my faithful and inseparable six-string companion.

It's true: between meetings, business class flights, and cigars with the scent of old oak, I've found myself a businessman. A new profession, but not so distant from art. After all, managing a chain of clubs, a hotel, or a music store requires the same as a good song: rhythm, harmony, and knowing when to enter — or exit — at the right time. I confess, this is an art I’m still learning, after all these years, to get it right without missing a single beat or measure.

I’m in no hurry to return to music. It’s not for lack of longing, but out of respect. But if a project with soul arises, one of those that challenges us to compose more than just chords, who knows? The guitar doesn’t forget the touch of my fingers. And I admit, I still know where I keep the melodies I never showed anyone.

London is a good city for reunions. And I’m out there, revisiting faces from the past and toasting with new people. What’s next? I don’t know. But I have a feeling — and my old brandy rarely gets it wrong...