I’ve tuned pianos for forty-three years.

Concert grands in theatres.

Baby grands in churches.

Uprights that smelled faintly of mouse.

I’ve learned every instrument lies.

Wood swells.

Steel stretches.

Humidity invents new stories.

Musicians ask what I’ve learned after spending my life around performers.

Usually, they’re hoping I’ll tell them something like genius is mysterious.

It isn’t.

It’s punctual.

The mysterious part is character.