I have a dream that has recurred off and on for the last 40 years.
It's a used piano warehouse, like we used to have here in Philadelphia
at Acme piano, where Joe Spike had almost everything including that
Ampico spinet that sat there by the Delaware, unheated and
un-airconditioned, for over 30 years; we Philadelphia collectors all
knew it was there.

The building was four floors high.  We used to walk and crawl on the
tops of the pianos to get through some of the rooms.  I think his place
was the backdrop for my dream.

Anyhow, I can see the shapes of the rooms in my dream.  It isn't Spike's
warehouse, but somewhere else.  I know where each of the pianos are:
all those upright Strouds, that section of unrestored Welte grands and
derelict Ampicos, including the Chickering with only two legs, and the
9' 6" Steinway on its side in the corner with all the dusty, falling
apart cardboard boxes on top of it.

Then suddenly it _is_ Spike's place.  There we are completing a sale.
But every time Joe Spike looks at me with that one-eye look of his,
and agrees to sell me that Steinway, I wake up.  Frustrating!

Bruce Grimes