The other night, just as I was nodding off to sleep, my mind was filled with a vision.

This vision was of a young Billy Joel perched precariously atop a minaret, singing “Scenes From An Italian Restaurant” but pausing at the end of each verse to flail his arms, just barely maintaining his balance. In the midst of Messr. Joel’s struggle, he’s overtaken by a pack of flying wolves.

It went something like this: