The hush before a Saturday night crowd

There's a particular silence in a hall about an hour before the doors open. Chairs all in place, stage light dimmed to a warm yellow, and the piano just sitting there like it knows something I don't. I sometimes stand in the middle of the empty room and listen to the building itself — the hum of the HVAC, a distant door latch. It's the only time all week I feel like the space belongs to me and not to the repertoire.