KC was my dream city again. There was a grey acoustic bass guitar (not upright) in a little music shop kinda upstairs of near where I maybe used to live, or maybe all those little neighborhoods look blessedly the same. I didn't even have to explain how I got in there when the pudgy old guy got back from wherever he was; he didn't even ask. I could play that guitar. I could see that I could learn to play it. Bending the strings was heavenly. But then after the guy got back, I couldn't find it. I had lain it in a chair, but when I wanted to buy it I couldn't find it. Also, at first it had seemed as if the guitar was mine, or maybe Ruth's, or maybe even Kenny's, that I had left there years ago, dog-burying-bone style. Later I wasn't so sure.