Dream, home, 6;13 am
My brother hands me a guitar to show him the chords to Beginning to See the Light by Lou Reed. For a pick he hands me a stapler.
The action on the dreadnought acoustic is set very low and the strings feel tuned too tight, too high. The sound-hole is positioned unusually close to the neck. The wood of the body is colored like coffee with a dash of cream, and the neck is barely darker. The stapler is weighty desk model from the 1960s. I hold it near the business end and position it over the sound-hole.
I strike straight sixteenth notes for the first two chords in the progression before I hand back the stapler.
“I will not use this.”
I feel relief in the room.
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