Turns out that pianist Phil Lectrum has recently passed away from too much rich food at the Viking Faire restaurant.. By odd chance the hands the docs grant on are his. And they have a muscular memory that connects with your back brain. You sell your guitar, two Marshallmellow amps, and series of nine F X pedals. The trade is layaway cash for a piano at the Pawn shop. A blood and beer stained chipped up but still capable of nice tones piano awaits you. Just five hundred more dollars and its yours. You visit your mother more often now. She has a old battered ass family piano in a spare bedroom. The thing is in awful shape but you lovely play it for thirty minutes to two and a half hours each visit. Mom digs it and the only songs you know are those she taught you in grade school so she loves them. You are starting to make up melodies and harmonies on it. Writing songs and plunking those bad tone hard to keep in tune keys. Dreaming of the day you have a semi-descent piano of your own. In four weeks you are better on piano then you ever where on guitar and you have seven fairly good songs written. Just one hundred twenty eight dollars more and that piano shall rest on your tiny living room taking up a mean amount of space.