A violinist is asked to play at a famous poet’s memorial. He agrees, and afterward, talks about his decision with his friend over coffee. She asks the violinist if they’re paying him. He says they are, and she gives an ambiguous nod that the violinist takes as encouragement to do the gig. They finish their coffee and agree to meet for drinks that night. The violinist reads some of the famous poet’s work, and it moves him. At the bar, the violinist’s friend gets in a fight with a construction worker, nicking him with her knife. After the fight, the violinist and his friend run away from the bar, and the friend drops her knife in the icy water underneath a bridge. The day of the memorial arrives, and the violinist warms up in a classroom. Someone comes in to give him his pay, which is in an envelope that feels light. The violinist puts the envelope away without checking how much money he was given. He plays, and it goes well; the people are moved. Afterward, he hears people talking about the poet: “He wasn’t a great poet exactly, but…I have really complicated feelings about him, but damn…It’s a shame that we throw away people just because they happen to be white men. White men built this place.”  The violinist then joins a group of poetry students, who are discussing who might replace the famous poet. They hope it’s a woman of color. They mention how the famous poet wasn’t that great, especially considering what he said about Black people. The violinist goes with the poets to a bar, where he meets his friend from the night before. The construction worker she’d fought with arrives too, and he and the friend make eye contact, and eventually leave to hook up. The violinist goes home with one of the poets. They hook up, and then the violinist plays his violin, and then they hook up again. The violinist wonders if he’ll always be resigned to playing a small part in events, “on demand like a performing monkey in a music box.” The next morning, he checks to see how much he was paid and found the envelope empty. While at first he feels hurt, he decides that “in the grand scheme of things, it was not a great loss,” that “[i]t was not memorable, it was nothing. It was insignificant.”