Sometimes Amos hears voices sounding inside the deep cave of his belly. Sometimes the violin feels a tiny sound spark from each “f” hole as Amos blows a warm breath over its strings. These “f” holes look like an elongated “s” in cursive, and Amos wonders if they are really “s” holes, after all. Soon Amos is laughing. Laughter rides the whole room, travels up the stairs in the dark and enters our dreams. This music we hear in the night is Amos among us.