There it is again. There. Hear it, Artie? Some old fiddle tune. It’s gone, now. Always gone as soon as I notice it. Sure sounds familiar, though. Familiar. Dunno where I heard it before. Could even have been out of a dream or something. You heard it, though, didn’t you? Two in the morning, it’s hard to tell for sure what you hear and what you just imagine.

Man. It’s almost there. But even if I got the tune, I’d never remember its name without a song to go with it. Those tunes. There’s a million of ‘em, plus three or four million names to go with ‘em. “Little Beggarman,” “Red-haired Boy,” “Lickety Brindle,” “Whiskey before Breakfast.” If could hum it out now, play it out, tack a few words onto it, maybe I could remember it that way.

Creepin’ to the cellar, just to take a little peek in
There’s a shadow by the barrel and I think I heard it splash

Something like that. I don’t know. Creepy words. This place is starting to feel a little creepy, too. Lucky I’m not out here tonight by myself, Artie.

Artie?