Hi, it's Sam Singer again.

Not far from my place in Habitsville, there's a piano bar.

It's literally called the piano bar.

One of those places with the ironically obvious name.

I'd never been there before.

I know you had another place in my own hometown that I've never visited.

I don't get out much.

I hadn't heard about the piano bar from our new intern at the Habitsville Gazette Luke.

Luke's a young goofy kid in his second year of college.

And if I had to guess, I wouldn't say he was particularly socially skilled.

Or especially popular.

He wore those really large square wireframe glasses that made him look far too intellectual.

Even though, in reality, he wasn't at all.

So I immediately thought it was odd that he frequented a high-end piano bar in downtown

Habitsville.

The music that drifted out of it was always either classical or jazz.

And the people I saw entering and leaving were always dressed up.

But still, Luke continually vouched for the place, saying that it had even become

a nightly routine at his to finish up his work at the paper, then head down to the piano

bar.

And at first, I didn't think too much about his newfound passion.

And then I noticed the holes in his mouth.

...