As the blade scored the metal, Arthur could already hear it—the way the pipes would dance in the breeze, turning a simple purchase of industrial hardware into a symphony for his backyard. He paid his bill, loaded the silver tubes into his truck, and drove home, the pipes clinking together in a preview of the music to come.
"We can get 'em within a sixteenth of an inch," the clerk grunted, hauling the pipes toward a massive industrial tubing cutter .
"I need something lightweight but sturdy," Arthur told the clerk, who looked more accustomed to selling beams for skyscrapers than musical components. "Got any ?"