Today is Wednesday. I feel like I'm waiting for something to happen. Or perhaps someone. Maybe I am waiting for someone to come on by to tell me where to go. My mother just died. She was a good and dutiful mother and she died at the solemn age of 66. The trees outside my window are not moving. nothing seems to be moving. My guitars lean on each other like old women sitting at a coffee shop on a Wednesday afternoon like today, whispering to each other, rusted broken and out of tune. There is a bitterness in the air and I'm not certain if it's my fault. The sun will set soon. It bathes everything in here with a certain richness that can only amplify the quiet. 

I have 6 guitars. I begin tunning one of them, intending to only tune that one
A light November breeze blows through the open door, carrying the smell of carbon monoxide and a comfortable engine noise.