A riff fell out an open window in Cabbagetown. It was a saxophone riff. The sax was out of tune and the blowing was infantile and scared-sounding, a little kid practicing for band, running his scales, bored. But suddenly his soul took flight and he RIFFED! to the rafters a tune tuneless and gorgeous on gilded wings and out the window and into the Cabbagetown front lawn where it got stuck on the wood picket fence and sat suspended and then the dream was over; some hipster walked by and thought he heard jazz but he didn’t know any better.