Comfortable, a tall cup of Jamaica Blue Mountain steaming nearby, he reaches around and from a sack of dark blue velvet pulls out a trumpet. Not just any trumpet, but one of dark, dark midnight blue from which tiny stars twinkle as if they were part of the metal. A trumpet whose bell seems to draw anyone who looks closely at it into it, into an unheard music which may or may not End Everything.
He got it from old Gabe, who gave it to him years ago. And the highwayman has been afraid to blow it, remembering the old coot's statement that "You'll NEVER blow anything as cool as this again, man."
He inserts the silver mouthpiece and raises the horn to his lips, then lowers it and takes another sip of coffee.
He removes the mouthpiece and decides to warm up a bit. Placing the mouthpiece to his lips, he "buzzes" and the Christmas tree sways and the roof and floor creak ominously.