It was a moment I wanted to capture and keep with me forever. Camden with his cute grins and his Spider-Man mask bunched up around his head like a beanie, August with his indulgent smiles and the affection in his eyes, the bistro lights above us, the music, the people around us, even our plastic bags on the floor at August’s feet.

“Are they gonna play you on the radio?” Camden asked.

“If I’m good enough.” I smirked. “They’ll listen to the first song—which I don’t have the rights to record or distribute anyway—and if they like it, they’ll stream the second song live.”

It reminded me to shoot Nicky a text. Lance had given me a business card that I’d taken a photo of, and I pulled out my phone to attach the photo in a message.

“Are they both covers?” August wondered.

I nodded. “First one’s called ‘No Excuses,’ and the second is ‘House of the Rising Sun.’”

“Oh, I do love Rising Sun,” he commented. “I’m looking forward to hearing your version.”

I smiled in response and typed out a quick text to my brother.

Looks like I’m about to plug our gig next weekend. If you don’t have anything better to do, go to the website listed on the card and listen. (Open-mic event at the festival.)

The men who were about to comp me were a chill bunch of locals who reminded me more of bikers than musicians. One on guitar, one on bass, one behind the drums, and me. Mac was the talker, and he said I was the fourth guy this weekend to play “House of the Rising Sun.”

I wasn’t surprised, given that it was public domain.

“I’d like to think my version will stand out,” I replied, shifting the shoulder strap of my borrowed guitar over my head.

“They all think that, buddy,” Mac chuckled gruffly.

I kept my mirth to myself and made sure the guitar was tuned. “All right, I’ll just ease into ‘Rising Sun’ right after ‘No Excuses.’”

“Copy that.” Mac and the others glanced at their lead sheets and got ready.

I took the stool at the front and half sat on it.

The woman I’d talked to earlier came up on the little platform and spoke into the mic. “Listen up, y’all! Next, we have Anthony Fender from New York. Give him a big round of applause and hope he lives up to his last name.”

Oh, a Fender joke. I’d never heard those before.