It never strikes him as odd, the difference between how he treats strangers who happen to be musicians and those who don’t. The usual disinterest replaced with curiosity, even warmth in the wake of this assumed familiarity. It doesn’t strike him as odd because well, it’s never really occurred to him, not consciously. There’s little thought involved to accepting the invitation; he pauses only to slip the guitar case from his shoulder before settling onto the grass.
"Same here — well. The middle school part. Neither of my parents played anything though."
The guitar had been a gift from his mother, the only one who encouraged this pursuit. For a moment he can’t help but imagine what that must have been like, growing up in a household where music was so intrinsically a part of daily life. Envy is only given seconds to thrive, the stranger’s question snapping him back to reality.
"Know any? Yeah, I know some of their stuff. Not sure I could play it either, though." He considers taking his guitar out and giving it a shot, but uncertainty keeps him from making any move towards it. It’s doubtful he could do any better — though he might have an edge if they were playing the same instrument.
"Don’t know shit about bass, if I’m bein’ honest. This’s all I play. What about you? You got a guitar yourself?"
"Picked it up all on your own? Pretty cool." He nods once as a show of respect. He knows quite a few people that started out similarly. Music is a good escape for a lot of things, a good hobby.
His back hits the grass and he begins a walking bass line - arbitrary finger movements to keep himself occupied while he thinks and speaks. He doesn't like the quiet that the park presents in between commentary. His view of the sky is mostly blocked by the branches of a tree, which kind of sucks. The yellow and orange leaves are pretty, at least.
"Damn. Figure it out later, then."
One ankle drapes itself over the other and he turns his head to look at the kid next to him. The wind picks up a little and now it's colder than he'd initially planned on dealing with. He doesn't bother zipping up his jacket, though. He finds himself laughing quietly.
"Got a couple of 'em back at my shop; JT 220 and a Hummingbird. Don't play much guitar, but sometimes I'll pick one up. Play a couple other things, too, but I don't keep 'em around." His fingers still and he pauses to think. "You ever been to Spellcaster Records?"
