No, I didn’t say Dean. I said ... Uh...”“Morning, what the hell?” I said picking the sleep snot from my eyes. I pulled my phone from my ear. I...coming call from Kia. What the hel--Holy shit it worked!“You remember!” I put my phone back to my ear.“Remember what, young man?” The gruff fatherly voice on the other end scared me.“Your daughter and I got paired together for an English paper. I was supposed to send her the file last night and--”“Why not just give it to her when she went to your place. He’s older, black, and he has fat fingers. He can’t play much more than chords, but his voice is enough to make for something special. He’s sweating like crazy…I’d hate to see him out here when it really is humid. He practically slaps through and into the soundhole as he plays Sam Cooke’s rendition of Summertime. I love it. Moving on, I’m watching the sky as the sun begins its final descent and I’m damn near skipping. If I get nothing else out of Nashville, I produced a lone song that, as far. More

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