Willow was busking in front of the Jambalaya. She offered to play a tune for me for a dollar. I had a quarter in my pocket so I threw it in her hat. The song was one I knew well, an old one, “Freight Train.” When she was done, I asked her if she knew about Elizabeth Cotten, who wrote it. She did. I told her I once heard Ms. Cotten play the song, back in the day, at the Jam, the very bar we were standing in front of. She was amazed. When I’d finished my chores, I gave her the handful of quarters I keep in my car for parking meters – I figured she’d earned more than a dollar for choosing that song.