The day came. I arrived in black slacks and a clean shirt, guitar and small PA over my shoulder. At the entrance I asked if I had a seat. The woman at the list blinked at the iPad. “I don’t see your name.” I laughed it off and said, “No worries. I’m the musician.” She walked me along a side path—the vendor route—past stacked chairs and a catering truck coughing steam into the afternoon.

That should have been my first pause. Instead, I plugged in.

I sang through the prelude while