The night wears on. The usuals have already played the same tired songs they always play, original compositions mixed with typical covers of folk songs, Johnny Cash and the Beatles. All the while, a new guy sits quietly off to the side, biding his time. He is solidly built and his head is shaved. Looking comfortable in his casual black t-shirt and jeans, he sits calmly with a soft guitar case leaning against his leg. The owner behind the bar stops the next regular from performing and says, "Let's give that guy a chance to play. I hear he's pretty good." The regular grumbles and returns to his seat. The new guy walks slowly to the front, unzips the case to reveal a beautiful 6-string bass guitar. Holding the guitar up to his chest vertically, he is poised to play. He closes his eyes and pauses for a moment, as though transferring part of himself into the instrument. He plays. It starts with just a beat and a note, then builds in speed and complexity. The espresso machine stops, the garage band freezes and everybody becomes hypnotized by nimble fingers dancing across strings. The bass guitarist is unaware of anything else. When the music says to accelerate, he accelerates. When it says to stop, he stops. Chords and notes flow forth naturally and hints of familiar songs rush past, as if a floodgate has been opened. Forgotten is prior noise from people with guitars. Unzipping the case has revealed more than an instrument. Gone is the calm and quiet man. Here is a musician.