You are the runt of the lute’s litter, the parasitic twin excised from its half-pear belly. Sideshow dwarf to the guitar’s trapeze artist and bass fiddle’s strong man. You ring with tarantellas and bluegrass. You plink, plink, plink for revelers sweating spider poison and parry with the banjo at Saturday night clog dances. You are limoncello and moonshine, the Apennines and Appalachians, Vivaldi’s Concerto in G Major and Bill Monroe’s Blue Moon of Kentucky.
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