A piano mysteriously washed up in the shore under the Brooklyn Bridge. It showed up in the news and that's when I first heard about it. People Instagrammed themselves posing by it, pretending that they were playing it. Nobody knew how it ended up there, just like the Stonehenge. It just appeared out of nowhere. 

B and I were talking about it and then she came up with a speculation:

"Must be a beautiful story," she said. "Imagine it's something dramatic like someone carried it to play for a girl but she didn't like it and then the guy just had to give it up and abandon it."

Then I came up with a story but it was so bad that it left both of us speechless. 

The piano is real strange, and it makes me feel a slight sense of sadness, says mom. It's as if the piano is left there to die. 

Before about a few months ago it was still in good condition, fairly, as it stood on the sand on all four legs. But now the legs collapsed, the roof snapped off, exposing the broken keys. The sand covered a third of the black and white keys. Pieces of paper with words were posted on the sides and graffiti was on the front of the piano. It lay there, tilted. 

I leaned against the fence, staring at it as if it was a hidden artifact from a different world. 

One of the many NYC mysteries.