But I can hear everything.

They play new things, old things. “Dead Girl.” “Lost and Found.” They play “Frozen” for the first time in a very long time. The last time I heard it was at the Crow’s Nest, back in October, a few weeks after I came here.

It was the night Janos talked with me for the first time. The first time beyond Whole, two-percent, or skim? and You’re welcome, anyway. I was sitting at the back of the room, near the coffee bar, on the edge of the crowd. Janos came over when the set ended. He had pockmarked skin and a rasping accent. Slovak, I learned later.

“You come every week,” he said, leaning down to wipe my table.

“I like the music.”

“The music. Yeah.” Janos grinned at me.

He thinks it’s a crush. That’s all. Something small and sweet and harmless. Something to tease a girl about.

Janos is kind.

“He’s good, isn’t he?” Janos nodded across the room.

The stage was empty now, the band waiting for the place to clear a bit before packing up. But who he meant was obvious.

“Yes,” I said. “He’s really good.”

Janos nodded. “He’ll be famous someday.”

“You think so?”

Janos nodded again, calm, certain, like I’d just asked him if the Crow’s Nest would be open tomorrow. He smiled down at me. “And we’ll say we knew him before everyone else.”

“How long have you known him?” I asked, taking the last cold sip of my café au lait. I’d made it last through the whole night. There’s never money for a second.

“They played here the first time a couple years ago.”

“Were they already really good?”

Janos looked like he was considering this. “Good. Yes. Very good for sixteen. They played mostly covers. A couple months later they played again. Now mostly new songs. His songs. More people showed up. Then they started coming back every week. Like you.” He looked down at me for another moment. From a distance, I would have guessed that Janos was in his thirties. Up close, past the scarred skin, he looked younger. Maybe twenty-three, twenty-four.

“Why do you always come alone?” he asked. “Watch alone? Sit alone?”

“I’m new in town,” I told him.

He tipped his head back. “I know what new in town is like. But this is a small town.” He gestured around with his damp rag. “It doesn’t take long for people to know you.”

“Maybe.” I smiled up at him. “But I don’t mind sitting alone.”

He picked up my empty cup. “You have family here?”

“My aunt Mae. I’m living with her for now. My father’s on the road.”

Janos squinted at me. “Mae Malcolm?”

“You know her?”

He shook his head. “People talk. You know. Small towns.”

Something about his face, his steady eyes, made me ask the question. “What do they say?”

“You really want to hear?”

I smiled at him again. “I’ve probably already heard.”

“They say stupid things. Superstitious.” He shrugged, flicking the damp rag. “She starts fires. She does magic. She found a body in the woods, someone missing for months, because a vision led her there.”