The Minstrel Mechanical

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It’s been years since I seen him. He’s probably rusted out by now, or maybe the Wardens nabbed him for the war effort. Maybe his brain’s in a cruise missile or satellite somewhere now; I hear they can’t make a military brain the way they used to. But I can tell you how I remember him. I remember walking down to the plaza summer nights–yeah, remind me sometime and I’ll tell you what summer was like–and we would dance for hours. He’d be sitting in the shade, taking himself apart, playing everything you can imagine. It was all part of him; he was actually made of music. And every once in awhile, I kid you not, he’d pass his head around for tips.

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