THE ATTIC ‘There are three things precious to me: Layla, birds and music, in that order. They are to me like a single lit candle is to a dark musty cave of uncertainties. Layla, I left alone far too long far too often. Every time I thought of her, I heard Chopin’s Nocturne which I believed was the perfect title track to the beautiful flowing montage of her hair she let loose from her high bun. Actually, the verse that really does capture the state I’m in when I see her hair unravel from the towel in the mornings is