The other day a friend of mine stormed into my room, grabbed my guitar
, and ran out the door in a matter of seconds. I thought it was rather rude
. It was
rather rude. That guitar is my baby and he knows it.
To calm myself down and avoid throwing things, I turned on the radio. And I heard his voice. I turned up the volume. Definitely him. He was talking about his band. Band? I didn't know he was in a band. He plays guitar like a mad scientist plays with chemicals, but I never thought he actually performed in the sense of being on stage.
Then he started singing. With my guitar. His voice, as Templeton so nicely worded it, was like clear glass. Glass that I had helped along by providing the background. Such a nice feeling - I knew my guitar was in heaven at this very moment, being blasted throughout the city. And when my guitar is happy, I'm happy. When he returned it I went a little crazy and I think maybe I scared him. I have a tendency to do that when I'm excited. Humph.
I hope he will sing for me again.