pxperdoves
"Is your heart singing out of tune? Are your eyes just singing the blues?"
Calloused fingers picked at the strings of the glossy black acoustic guitar and pulled an acoustic version of Green Day's Amy into the chilly autumn air. The player, a young woman in her twenties, tapped her foot to keep time with the song.
"Dirty records from another time Some blood stains on your shoes No one really knows about your soul And I barely really know your name Burning rhythms and posting lies And a bunch of fools drown in shame."
The clinking of coins in her guitar case drew her attention away from the song and to the small crowd she'd drawn. She thanked the one who'd tossed the coins into her case, then continued to play.
"Amy don't you go I want you around Singin' woah please don't go Do you wanna be a friend of mine? Do you wanna be a friend of mine?"
When the chorus was done, she stopped singing, though her fingers still plucked out the tune. "Would anyone care to hear something different?"
