Can you play? // Christy & Stephen
Stephen was on his way to the store, ready to use the coupons he’d saved from last Sunday’s paper. He’d realized he was running low on, well everything, and wondered when he’d gotten so distracted. It wasn’t like him.
As he approached the store he saw a young woman sitting on the sidewalk in front of it, holding a guitar and looking angry. She wasn’t playing, so she probably wasn’t trying to get tips or something. Actually, he was sure of it, with the way she was glaring at everybody.
He almost walked by her, head down. But then rethought it. Maybe something was wrong, after all, and it seemed impolite to just ignore her.
“Um, hello,” Stephen said uncertainly, “Are you…alright?”
The longer she sat there, the more the guitar looked like it belonged connected with the curb of the pavement. Though her anger had somehow subsided (if that was even possible for Christy), she was still annoyed, folding her arms across her chest. When someone very gently seemed to speak to her, Christy’s eyes shot sharply up, and met… well, a rather handsome man’s eyes, which, to be fair, threw her off for about a few seconds, before she reassembled herself again.
“I’m fine,” she snapped, “do I look injured? Don’t put any money in the guitar, I’ll go through hell getting it out again, it’s so much fucking harder than people think.”
She eyed him up and down as sharply as she’d first looked at him, inevitably concluding that he was indeed very handsome. Reaching out with one small hand, she fiddled at the neck of the guitar, softly playing at a random string she couldn’t have identified even if she wanted to. Subconsciously she was, perhaps, making sure that nothing had happened to it, nor that he was about to reach out and put some money in it.