I'm out camping, and just returning to my car in the morning. It is a large green Suburban like Keta's, and the passenger-side doors are both wide open. I don't know if I left them open last night, or if somebody broke into it. I look in, and at first it looks like nothing was stolen or otherwise messed with.

Then I notice that my guitar case isn't quite the same. Something doesn't look right about it, so I pull it out and open it up, and my guitar has been replaced. It was my Taylor, and now it is some odd guitar that looks hand-built, a pale oak color, very large and flat and plain. It's an interesting instrument, but not my guitar. The tuners are very subtle, so I take a closer look, and they are an interesting design that doesn't stick our from the headstock. All six strings go into a black metal tuner block, a standard part purchased from somewhere and tacked onto the head, that has all the rotors and adjustments built. I strum on the guitar a couple times; it sounds pretty good, actually, but I don't think I like it as much as my guitar.

I pull out my other guitar cases and look in each one, and they've all been swapped with something inferior. When I open my mandolin case, a paper backing falls out of it, and the mandolin in there is basically worn out and half taken apart.

Of course I'm horrified by the loss of my guitars, but I consider the insurance money, and maybe I can buy some better ones.

Then we're packing to depart for somewhere, and I'm putting my muddy boots in the back, behind the driver. I think Scott is driving us on a precarious road, and I'm questioning my confidence in him, looking down a sheer dropoff off the right side of the road.