The old man swings his dead right leg out of the car at the end of the cul-de-sac, grabs the cane with the carved tiger handle, and steadies himself under the shadow of a condominium at his back. The Symphony House reaches skyward 22 stories, handsomely terraced, tastefully bland in color — yet it seems no more permanent than the man, 76 years old, with wide shoulders, a bulbous nose, and a brambly white beard that has been there so long, he doesn't know what he would look like without it. With the sun obscured, the air holds a chill on a beautiful December afternoon along the New River in... More >>>