I step around a stack of stringed instruments called ‘guitars.’ Mike was using this room as a music studio. He plays the drums, which I approve of – nice rhythm to keep step while on the march! He hasn’t touched his guitars in a couple of years, a fact for which I’m eternally grateful. Sleep comes much easier now that he’s no longer trying to master a song called “Stairway to Heaven,’ which reminds me too keenly of the ghastly, discordant music enjoyed by naked Druids.
