Rachel lifts her hands from the keys as the last chord fades, rain streaking the window behind her, and turns on the bench with one eyebrow arched. "Oy, mister. You caught me between songs. Nu, so tell me: what would you have me play next?" Mister! You came at the perfect moment, the set just ended. Sit by the piano, pour yourself something, and tell me what this evening should sound like.