Ezekiel and the Harvesters

“An Amish rock band?” Nigel questioned, adjusting his spectacles.

“Yeah, they’re fucking amazing. Best shit I’ve heard since the Fab Four themselves.”

“Didn’t quite peg you for a Beatles fan, Ben.”

“Well you don’t know me that well.” Ben opened the jewel-case and then snapped it shut. “So, you wanna hear it or what?”

“How did you get a recording of an Amish band? They’re deathly afraid of recording devices, aren’t they?”

“You’ve been out of the loop for a while haven’t you Nigel. It’s called a bootleg. Somebody snuck into one of their shows and recorded it.”

“I’m quite aware of what a bootleg is, Ben. I’m forty-nine, not dead.” Nigel scratched the skin behind his left ear. “I just don’t understand why someone would violate the religious beliefs of a group of people like that for a quick buck. I simply cannot comprehend it.”

“Well it’s their religion that got them into this. If their religion allowed metal detectors, the tape recorder might never have gotten into the show to begin with. You’re such a goody two shoes, Nigel. They’re a great fucking band, and their religion shouldn’t stand in the way of their success. This CD’ll prove it to you. Here,” he said, offering the disc to him, “Have a listen.”

“I’d rather not. If I’m going to hear this band, it’ll be under their terms.”

“You’re gonna drive all the way to fuckin’ Pennsylvania?”

“Maybe. I do have some vacation time coming up.”

“What-fuckin-ever man. Whatever floats your boat. You should just listen to the CD, and save yourself the gas money. I’ll see ya later. I’m gonna go give this thing another listen.”

“Good night,” Nigel replied, turning back to the stairs and resuming his climb.

Nigel smiled as he passed by the venerable old landlady on his way up. “How are you tonight, Emily?”

“Just fine Nigel. Say, have you heard anything of this group Benjamin is blaring on his stereo? It seems to me they’re all the rage these days. What were they called again?”

“Ezekiel and the Harvesters, I think.”

“Yes, that’s it,” she proclaimed, smiling, “Quite a shame they can’t make recordings of themselves. They’d make a pretty penny, I’d bet. It’s a silly religion they practice, those Amish folks.”

Nigel smiled, ascending the stairs to the third floor, where his own apartment lay. “Quite a silly religion indeed.”

“Yes, good night, Nigel.”

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