So Herb,

I never figured out the difference between you and me until just now.

I started off the story talking about a beautiful lady who looks like an angel playing one of the most beautiful pieces ever written flawlessly in a place that looks like heaven.

You ended the story by talking about sharing a fleabag, bed bug-ridden stinky cigarette butt smellin' $5 an hour motel room with a redneck con-artist and instrument thief who was sitting on the can playing the guitar.

I just got it. I understand what makes us different.

I now also know why you write better country songs than me.