Steve has set up a distance learning arm of his electric funk band for wayward boys. It uses bulky studio headphones and long stretches of electrical cord he unfurls from his second floor window. I stroll through town with my headphones still attached by yards of slinking cord to his stereo. I get caught on an overhang but miraculously work free without taking off the headphones. In a music store I ask for something small and percussive, preferably with tines. There is a folk violin that can be bowed through a small slit in its cloth case, but it is priced at $150. There are a variety of mallet instruments, and, just now, a pair of Central American sisters, the younger of whom is dating my brother. They take off their shirts.