“I wrote this,” Paul said with the pick in his hand, and proceeded to strum the guitar. He felt deeply moved by this song, “Mother Dear,” the introductory track to his self-titled album. “Mother dear, how I wish, you were here, how I wish, how I wish,” he sang, his voice acrobatic and trembling. Where once he’d felt it was too maudlin, and his crooked label had suggested he move it to mid-album, now this song seemed to him a masterpiece of alternating hesitation and emotion. As he watched his pick move up and down, he could feel how important music still was to him, how he could use chords and lyrics to summon moments of his life that had passed and briefly relive them.

“Thank you very much,” he said at the end, as if he were back at that club in the Keys with his mother approaching the plywood stage. The others applauded. Priscilla said, “That was so great, Paul,” more careful these days not to call him sweet. “Nice job,” Maya added. Then they went on with their evening.