Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey. As a patron, you will also receive each week's episodes as one longer episode every Monday. ------ [TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] Yeah, I’m just going to keep talking to you like you’re listening. Because the alternative is reminding myself that there’s a nonzero chance that Harry is the— [click, static] Anyway. Hey Birdie. You’ll never guess my luck today. I saw the lights on in a roadside diner—I still cannot put together why some places have power and some don’t—and when I walked in music was playing.  That’s right, their jukebox was working! And that was exciting enough as it is, but I did have this moment when I first heard tinny music playing that…well, someone had to have been there to pick a song right? Put in a quarter and everything. So I barged right in and searched the whole building—the kitchen, the back office, the bathrooms—and when that didn’t turn anything up, I pretty much ran circles around the property like a chicken with my head cut off.  There was nothing. And when I took a closer look at the jukebox, it seemed like it was a free one so…I guess there must have been some kind of power surge that caused a circuit to trip and turn it on or… Who knows. I’m not an electrician, as much as I’ve very carefully tried to be throughout the years. Whatever happened, music was playing. It wouldn’t let me actually pick a record, but it didn’t matter. It was a dream to get to listen to some real music again. The Four Seasons, Peggy Lee, Elvis…it felt like the world was full again.  I’m getting used to too much weird shit, I think. The CB working without a power source, jukeboxes randomly tripping on, you sending me messages that contain all kinds of red flags and me just… You kind of distracted me, you know that? I was pissed at you. The whole Denver thing, not responding to a lot of the stuff I’ve sent you that I think warrants a response—I don’t know, I’m starting to feel a little crazy, Birdie. But then you show up and talk to me live and it’s like…all that stuff ceases to matter. Because you’re there and you’re real and I never know what you’re going to say next, but none of that makes you trustworthy.  Give me a reason to trust you, Birdie.  [click, static]