Eventually, Freddy had to find a job. He got into a nine to five routine that really began at 6:30 am and ended around 6:00 pm. His job was okay by him. It paid the bills.
By the time Freddy ate dinner, did the dishes, folded his laundry or handled whatever other chore required his attention, he was tired enough for bed. But Freddy could never just go to bed.
At first it was a fiddle that kept him up late. For a while after that it was a drum set. Most recently his obsession became an electric piano he bought as soon as he'd saved enough cash. He found himself losing hours on a wooden bench, fingers sliding down white and black keys, practicing scales and feeling his way through songs. Some nights it was one or two or three in the morning before he fell off the bench onto his futon and passed out.
One night he played all three instruments, alternating every hour or so. Before he knew it, the sun shone through his apartment window and, feeling more wired than tired, he took a shower and went to work.
He expected to come home from work that day and go straight to bed, but a rhythm stuck in his head wouldn't quit. Down he sat to play some chords and up he rose with fiddle in hand and once again the hours disappeared.
Three days and three nights passed and Freddy didn't sleep a wink. At work he drank coffee, at home he just jammed.
Eventually, Freddy went to sleep on a Friday night. When he woke midday Saturday, reentering the world from a dream, a voice sang softly inside his head. The melody flowed to his finger tips and down he sat once again, lost in a world all his own.