Like a shoebox of photographs with sepiatone loving

Walking around town with your guitar strapped to your back is fun. Masquerading as a hobo, singing your lungs out, being stopped and asked to play a tune and refusing to play with a cheena accent.

Best of all, you feel safe even when you're walking down the street of the notoriously rowdy red-light district at night. No one wants to be bashed on the head by a guitar and have a metal capo crack their skull.

Ahyes. The guitar is my new boyfriend.

...

The littlest things that take me there. I watch them, she reminds me of me a year ago. The same grin, tingles, bashfulness, sparkle in her eyes...they make me smile. Wistfully.