At zero beers, I like Conway Twitty. I won’t change the station if he comes up, my toe may even tap in accompanying rhythm. At five plus beers Mr. Twitty becomes a lyrical genius of the upmost sophistication, his words become paramount with other like philosophers such as Descartes; the man understands the soul. So when the gentleman in the back who has nursed his share of Budweisers comes onstage and leads into some “Hello Darlin”, I take note. He doesn’t bother with the window dressings of tonality or pitch, he delivers in a flat monotone, waxing poetic in a gravelly voice. Just giving the meat of the song, the words are clear and concise and he conveys them in a way that is free of interpretation, they are what they are, make of them what you will. The last line dies off and I tip my beer to him as he steps off the stage. A fellow connoisseur of the greatest philosophical mind of the century, a follower of the Tao of Twitty. It felt right and I called it a night.