Lead Belly’s ghost floated down the graffiti-frescoed hallways of the broke down gin palace, needing a decent dose of the elusive 12-string twang that had so consumed his time amongst the living.

In what had once been the bar, the robust strumming of a warmly glowing 12-string guitar set his ectoplasm to sympathetic vibration.

Hank Vann loosed his plectrum upon the dozen strings of his fine wooden box as the phalanges of his left hand danced a tarantella over the fretboard.

Lead Belly’s ghost drew a wry smile and, satisfied that saloons would still ring with the twang of the 12-string, hitched a ride on the hereafter highway to jam with Pete Seeger and Hank Williams.