When the Musician was a boy, he carried a small blade in his pocket, he carried a tool box with three drawers, he carried the heart of a rabbit in a felt pouch. Flesh or twine, cable or limb. When the Musician was a boy, he memorized Leviticus, recited abomination and iniquity while his mother cut his hair. Her hands were quick, the scissors sure. These blades, the Musician knew, were not like the one in his pocket.