Tuning a piano made of wet asphalt

Last night I'm tuning a piano whose strings are made of wet asphalt and the hammers are tiny bare feet. Every note I strike brings up the smell of rain on a hot road, and the customer keeps asking me to make it quieter — but the quieter I tune it, the louder the room gets. I wake up in that half-second before the alarm and realize I've been holding my breath.