Phineas Zene’s landlady had given him the ultimatum that morning, and between being homeless and pawning his cello, he’d rather be dead.
Still dripping wet from the endless Seattle winter rain, he knocked on the door of Suite 322 in the C&M building.
The door opened, revealing a young man in a white tank top and jeans. He looked Zene up and down, and smiled. “I see you’re here about the ad for a cello player,” he said. “Sebastian Arcady. Come on in.”
Feeling old in his suit and coat, Zene entered the small front room, dragging his cello case with him. Arcady hung up Zene’s coat. The case continued to drip water, which Zene apologized for.
Arcady waved his hand and said, “Never mind, it’ll dry. The studio is this way.”
This was the part Zene worried about, because the advertisement on Craig’s List had been quite strange.
