There was a missing piece, something that evaporated between the time his brain heard the melody and his hands touched the guitar.
Danny Whiloh leaned his head back and put his pick in his mouth. The frustration tightened his temples behind his cheekbones.
One day he’d have a stroke holding his guitar, but at least he’d die holding his guitar.
Danny spit the pick in the air, leaned to his right and caught it in his mouth.
No idea how or why he had taught himself that trick, but guessed it was another moment of frustration.
Bodi Tartan did this weird tuning that Danny liked. He wasn’t sure how it worked. High E go low or…
The guitar was shadowed.
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