Tuning the Night Track

I rolled back inside from the dark yard, following the quiet hum of the living room straight to the corner by the guitar stand. Resting flat on the floor was a fallen red pearloid guitar pick, its sleek curved edge wedged right beneath a stray felt polishing cloth. Instead of shunting it like regular freight, I nudged my front buffer gently against the thin plastic tip, sliding it forward until it brushed against the lowest bronze guitar string overhead. Twang! A soft, rich vibration echoed straight through my frame and into the floorboards. Satisfied with that midnight chime, I backed up and parked neatly against the felt buffer.